


The Art Of Falling

by thiscountsaspractice



Category: Kingdom of Heaven (2005), Kingdom of Heaven (2005) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crusades, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Historical, Mild Gore, Nightmares, Slow Burn, Timeskips, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:01:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 42,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23015197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thiscountsaspractice/pseuds/thiscountsaspractice
Summary: Fraught with responsibilities & priorities, Archbishop William Of Tyre & King Baldwin IV Of Jerusalem had no time to see each other. But wanting to document the young King's reign, the Archbishop delegates the responsibility to his apprentice, Lady Soumaya Of Byzantium.
Relationships: Baldwin IV of Jerusalem/Original Character(s)
Comments: 45
Kudos: 29





	1. I Welcome Death

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to my beloved Yeshua who introduced me to KoH & he himself finds affinity with The Leper King. And cheers, to my fellow Baldwin fangirls. Everybody wrote their own stuff & got me like "fuck it, esgetit." I recommend "Et Cetera" by blodskaal: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18521479/chapters/43896037.
> 
> This fic's so research-heavy. I try not to fudge up timelines & ages but don't expect *total* accuracy. "Kingdom Of Heaven," basically.

Mid-November 1178   
  
Lawrence the camel waddled past the Jaffa gate, snorting & grunting all the way. His tassels & accessories jingled as he swayed. Balanced on his hump were stacks of assorted luggage while his mistress held the reigns. Though fresh off the boat & christened by a fresh layer of dust, her robes persisted with their teal-green pigment. Her perfume mingled with Lawrence's animal musk. She bore marks of status but traveled unaccompanied. Sweat, dust & kohl stained the rim of her face veil. But such was traveler life. Her veiled eyes scanned across the souk: the sea of spices, pilgrims, knights & natives. She too, should visit the sacred monuments, she thought to herself. Soumaya tossed back the last contents of her warm waterskin. Opening her eyes, she espied her first stop: written in Latin, Arabic & Hebrew, all of which she could read, was "Razzouk's."  
  


* * *

  
  
Despite the space between the two men, the reunion exuded warmth. Had his majesty no ailment, he would have embraced his old mentor.   
King Baldwin IV was in the middle of eating his early evening meal, alone at his desk. Going over his documents with his mask down, his clouded blue gaze reviewed what he had written. But at the back of his mind, the Egyptian sultan clad in black preoccupied his thoughts. Saladin was a reasonable man but he kept returning & conquesting, vying to never stop til Jerusalem was his. The teenaged king haphazardly pushed food into his mouth, chewing thoroughly or as much as his gnarled lips would allow. The thought of his nemesis raiding crusader states planted firmly in his head. His gnawing of gamy venison matched the furrow of his brow.   
A knock on the door & Baldwin swallowed. A title & a name was announced from the other side. Baldwin dabbed his mouth with a napkin & replaced the mask. The Leper King welcomed in his former tutor Archbishop William Of Tyre.  
  
"How long has it been since I schooled you, your majesty?"  
"Far too long, old friend."   
"Long enough to share a meal with your ex-mentor?"  
"Will the other courtiers be there?"  
"I apologize. Even I can't keep them from you. Not even back when I had a place here in court."  
  
The Anjou scion glanced at his half-eaten dish.   
"I'll stall them til you finish," the Archbishop gave a wan half-smile before turning to leave Baldwin's chambers. Though Baldwin's body had mostly gone numb, his senses were keener than ever: something was up. Still, he sighed, lowered his mask again, & finished his dinner. He had not been present at court banquets for several moons now.  
  


* * *

  
Princess Sibylla perked at the sight of her brother slowly making his way towards the head of the table. Getting reacquainted with the good archbishop was a pleasant surprise but Baldwin coming to sit with them was even better. Everybody else including her husband Guy De Lusignan stood at attention. But all she could think about was how much she missed her brother.   
"Hi," she whispered beside him when they'd all sat down. She pecked the cheek of his silver visage. "How did William convince you to join us?"  
"With sentiment & patience," his eyes smiled at her. His voice breathy with a trace of mirth.  
The Archbishop & the two siblings chatted. The three of them in their private bubble at the head of the table. Baldwin V, Sibylla's boy had begun his first words. Everyday, his steps seemed a little more sure. Meanwhile, Jerusalem's relationship with Constantinople had been going swimmingly, according to the Archbishop. Familial intimacy lowkey imposed on the rest of the room as the other courtiers mingled with each other. At that point, both Guy De Lusignan & Patriarch Heraclius knew they wouldn't get a word in edgewise or die trying.  
  
Not long after dinner had started, a name & title were announced, followed by another.  
"Count Tiberias, Marshal of Jerusalem & Lady Soumaya of Byzantium," hollered the attendant.  
In strode the couple, all smiles & locked arm in arm. Sibylla figured the empty seat beside William belonged to the Marshal. But she would have never guessed he'd bring a date to any banquet.  
"Apologies for my tardiness," he moved Soumaya's seat for her. "This one has a charm that makes you forget time."   
"Marshal, please. Do go on," she grinned.  
"History has that effect on historians. And we historians try to pawn off that effect on others. Blame it on her occupation," William chuckled.  
The Leper King knew those words all too well when he as a child would devour all materials his tutor could procure.   
"The occupation I'm in because of you, _daskalos_ ," Soumaya & William hugged, trading kisses on the cheek.  
"Tiberias, you have my gratitude," William shook the Count's hand. "I myself would have escorted my pupil here. But only God knows when I'd be available to see his majesty again. Consider our debt all those years ago rep--"  
"Oh, my stars!" Realizing her folly, Soumaya stood & bowed low. "Forgive my carelessness, your highness. It is an honor to meet you & the good Princess Sibylla."  
The king held up his hand, signalling her to sit.  
"All is forgiven if you tell us all about that injury," the princess regarded the bandage on Lady Soumaya's left forearm.  
"Sibylla!" Guy De Lusignan hissed at his wife, cutting Soumaya off. "What is wrong with you? Just because our guest is some heathen _Orthodox_ Oriental, does not give you the right to be immediately rude," he drank from his cup. "Yet."  
"I. Am... non-denominational," Lady Soumaya paused. "And the princess honors me with her concern & interest," she replied smiles with Sibylla, giving her a polite nod with her hand over her heart. "But it's not a wound."  
"Yes," the Count Tiberias cleared his throat. "First thing she sought out to do after landfall was Razzouk's--"  
"The tattooist?" Heraclius chimed in. "To mar your own flesh is a sin."  
"So is eating shellfish & wearing gold, _Pater_. But that lot seems to suit you just fine," Soumaya retorted. "I wanted to get an irreplaceable souvenir from the Holy Land before pilgrimage & other obligations."  
"Yes, & had it been Easter, we might as well have missed dinner service entirely. Easter is peak season at Razzouk's," Tiberias concurred. "They're entirely closed on Sunday."  
"If it were up to me, they'd be closed forever," the Latin Patriarch quipped.  
"Well good thing it _isn't_. Up to you," Soumaya shot back.   
  
"You said you were non-denominational," all eyes flicked to the head of the table where King Baldwin IV spoke at last. Soumaya beamed at his flawless Greek. Heraclius mumbled something into his cup. Loud enough for Soumaya to hear.  
"Father, we are all sinners. Best be true to yourself now & ask forgiveness later like the knights who sacked the temples before us. Your majesty, your Greek is impeccable! I wouldn't expect less of our beloved mentor. And yes, I am non-denominational. A Christian is a Christian. That's what my parents would say. My mother's family were Muslim but converted out of convenience for they settled in Constantinople. That's where she met my father & where our house now stands. And since he brings us along on his travels, we see the differences between the sects. But at their core, they are the same. A descendant of Abraham is a descendant of Abraham. What more could you want?"  
"And what does your family travel for?" Sibylla asked the younger girl.  
"Business. My father is a tradesman but also deals with buying & selling machinery among other things like their parts, fabrics & pigments," Soumaya drank before running her knife through chicken.  
  
Dinner's fare included pan-fried venison garnished with salt, pepper & spices from the souk-- the meal finished by the king earlier. The meat was paired with chopped onions, garlic & leeks. However, the chicken was stuffed with herbs & boiled in its own stock. Rosemary & Thyme was rubbed on its skin then dressed with a creamy almond sauce. Custard tarts donned the table as well. Their yellow glow attributed to saffron. Diners had the option of wine or sharbat to wash it all down. Theirs too, was the choice to add or forego ice from the icebox, tended to by servants.  
Though he did not partake, King Baldwin IV resumed conversation with Archbishop William, trading stories & updates of personal matters & news of state.  
"Oh! That reminds me, Baldwin," the Archbishop clasped his hands. "I just resolved a dilemma of mine."   
"Dilemma, you say," said Soumaya as she was about to bite a piece of poultry.  
"Yes. Now you both know the closest I've ever had to having children is having my students, correct? Unfortunately, I cannot always play father figure as much as I'd like."  
"Or visit us for that matter," Baldwin replied. "Even if you had the time, there's no guarantee we wouldn't be preoccupied."  
"Even letters & presents, I've the shame to admit I either forget or have no place for in my daily affairs."  
"Archbishop, please," Soumaya turned to him with understanding in her eyes. "The fact that we have you in our lives at all already shows our place born where we would want for nothing."  
"Yet you both put me in a position willing-- wanting to _give_ something.  
"Baldwin," William faced his king. "I don't know when we may meet again. But I want you to remember me. Just as I will remember you. For the gracious young man you've grown into, I want the world to remember you," he paused. "To you, do I present my gift," he lifted his hand, gesturing to the girl beside him.  
The court watched, frozen for a Jerusalem moment.   
"What," Soumaya was deadpan. " _Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait_ ," she sputtered in Greek while gesticulating before returning to Latin. "You said... this job was a gift... for _me_..."  
  
Several months ago, Soumaya, daughter of Theophilus & Dunyazad, was recuperating in her room from the accident. She had been reading a book on Persian poetry when a knock on her door sounded. The servant had not even left the room before she pried the wax seal from the letter & read its contents.  
  
_My dearest Soumaya,  
I pray this letter finds you well. I, by the grace of God, can't complain. However, I am almost always on the move & the political forces that favor me can be fickle. You know how it is-- why I rarely have time for my own leisure, let alone visiting my former pupils, you included. Regardless, of how astute they are.  
But for your brilliance & dedication to your craft & subject matter, I bring a proposition. Nay, a present to remedy the holidays & events of your life I've missed: Will you represent me as the biographer of his royal majesty, King Baldwin IV Of Jerusalem? I will answer your lodging & pa...  
  
_Soumaya could barely read the rest. She would have leapt if she could. Her heart thrumming in her ears, she was so happy. As soon as she could walk again, she packed all her paraphernalia onto Lawrence & voyaged towards Jerusalem.   
  
"I thought the idea was rather brilliant, if I do say so myself; Killing two birds with one stone."  
"I'm already a leper. Then you transmute me into a bird & stone me to death. Oh, how you wound me," the king chuckled at his former teacher as his sister lightly shook her head with a smirk. Confusion painted Soumaya's features.  
"Speak plainly, Archbishop," Baldwin leaned back, voice laced with amusement. "Is this for me or is this for you?"  
"Same question: for me," her brow wrinkled. "Or... for... you?" She trailed off.  
William of Tyre's eyes darted back & forth between the two teenagers.  
"Both. Me. All of us. Together."  
"So Soumaya undergoes the apprenticeship of a lifetime," Baldwin started.  
"I record every moment & every day of your life," she continued the king's train of thought.   
"Or what little is left--"  
"I wouldn't say "little.""  
"And you gain stock of all our labors," the teens looked back at William.  
"I will personally see to each of us getting a copy of Soumaya's work. I _will_ look into circulation. Eitherway, we all go home satisfied," William promised.  
"Die satisfied," Baldwin corrected.  
"Sire, with all do respect, you don't sound very optimistic," Soumaya apologetically shot back.  
  
"Put yourself in my place," he looked at her. "Ever since the Archbishop's revelation of my sickness, every person you see here has been preparing for my death," Sibylla laid a hand on her brother's forearm. He pressed his other hand over hers & continued. "I will neither pity my lot in life nor sugar coat it. I am dying, madam. Every day I bathe in medicine & ointments. Every day I'm swaddled in bandages in the Mediterranean heat. Every day I feel leprosy drain my health til I can barely stand & you ask me to be optimistic?" The young King's voice was neither whining nor scolding. It was soft & clear & matter-of-fact. Shame blossomed in Soumaya's mind as she pursed her lips, eyes downcast for a second. A second passed & her brown eyes bore into his blue ones through the mask's eyeholes.  
"And despite all that... you _chose_ to march to Montgisard-- outnumbered, outmanned, might I add. And God on high granted you a victory. That wasn't that long ago & even now we're still children. I think you have more than enough leeway to be a _little_ optimistic, sir."  
A bemused scoff came from within the mask as Baldwin leaned back in his chair. His eyes continued to stare back into hers while his bandaged finger pointed at the Archbishop. At this point, Soumaya was leaning forward, forearms crossed on the table.  
"Do you teach all your other students to harbor such spirit or just her?"  
"Oh believe me, she's always been like this. You should see her study to the point of obsession... if not exhaustion."  
"Fool of me to arrive here unprepared," she started. "Accepting this arrangement without studying would be like marching to war without provisions."  
"What know you of war, little girl," Guy De Lusignan interjected. "You think your books & stories prepare you for the Saracens' brutality-- you would scream & faint at the sight of so much blood."  
"... Blood?... Why, what would a **_lady_** know of blood?" Soumaya feigned shock as snickers from Sibylla & other courtiers surfaced. "I... know that I know nothing. At least of the experience that comes from battles--"   
"Enough of this!" It was Heraclius' turn to speak. "We don't need this woman-- this, this... child. In fact, her employer-- rather, her so-called "tutor" holds no official office here. We have scribes & historians in place, your highness. Seasoned writers at our disposal. Why should we have to tolerate the hassle of this girl playing apprentice-scholar?"  
"May I plea my case to answer that?" an annoyed Soumaya turned her head in the Patriarch's direction but did not meet his gaze.   
"Let her speak," Count Tiberias cut off Heraclius once he opened his mouth.  
"Seconded," Sibylla quipped.  
"It appears we're holding court over dinner," the Leper King added. "Lady Soumaya."  
"Thank you," she nodded gratefully as Guy rolled his eyes & Heraclius pouted disapprovingly.   
  
"Like I said, I know so little of war. Much less tactics & actual fighting. And that's coming from somebody who's read libraries full of biographies & literature, both fiction & non. The contents I've read do not compare to the real thing... It's not my place to fight, nor will it ever be. This much I know.   
"But I have seen death in many of my travels... The stages of decomposition... Of grief... And I've read of you, your glorious highness," she beamed at Baldwin, a break from the gravity of her tone. "I've read how despite the numbness & deterioration... you still beat Sultan Saladin's scattered forces two years ago. That was nothing short of a miracle. I thank God for sparing your intellect as well," she turned back to the rest of the table.   
"Speaking of God, are we not sure of our own soul's place being in this Crusade? Are we not sure of the state of our afterlife? Knowing who we worship to be true & that our faith in Him is unwavering? If God wills whatever is happening right now, shall we not have faith in His will?   
"I've seen death. I've seen sadness. But when sadness passes, usually fondness replaces it in the eyes of loved ones. Ladies & gentlemen of the court, I am not afraid to die. But should my writing survive & as a bonus, surpass me & whoever be my subject of writing... Well, death would be worth it," she turned back to her monarch, relaxed but not slouching in his place. His elbows on the table, fingers interlocked.  
  
"Are you sure?" All set their eyes upon Jerusalem's Leper King. "Just because you witnessed something, does not necessarily mean you _know_ it."  
"I think... if I saw Lazarus climb out of his grave, I think I'd believe it... At this point, I'm half-certain I'm talking to him right now."  
"Hm, blasphemy shouldn't be as flattering. Had I met Christ, I may have asked to be healed," again Baldwin chuckled. "Still, Lady Soumaya. With all due respect... I don't believe you know enough of death."  
"Well then," her features went placid for a brief while. "Shall we get acquainted then?" She held out her hand. He expected her to shake it. Instead, she put the bandages to her lips, not breaking eye contact. It lasted for a second. The silence at the dinner table even longer. Slowly, King Baldwin IV Of Jerusalem withdrew his hand. And with the other arm on the armrest, he leaned into his knuckles. The other guests had their chance to pick their jaws off the floor when breathy laughter began resonating from within the mask.  
  
"Of all the studies you've taught, Archbishop, I did not expect brazen flattery nor recklessness to be part of your curriculum. She will reside in the palace apartments. But as her services are your gift, her living costs will be covered by you."  
"That's what I wrote her," added William of Tyre. All this time, Soumaya felt like she was holding her breath in & now she can breathe again.   
"Your majesty... I am most grateful for this opportunity to chronicle by your side. To you & the good Archbishop. Both. I... I _**will**_ fulfill my duties to the best of my ability," she bowed, hand over her heart.  
  
Dinner at this point had gotten cold. Some nobles decided to retire. Others finished anyway. Soumaya was escorted to her new quarters & started to unpack. The Archbishop & King decided to stay behind. William remained for as long as possible with his King before at last returning to Tyre.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -I named the camel Lawrence so he can be Lawrence Of Mediterranea.  
> -The IRL Razzouk clan has been tattooing in Jerusalem since the 1300's. I just used artistic liberty to make em settle in Jerusalem some 2 centuries earlier.  
> -If I had to cast William Of Tyre, my choices are Jim Broadbent (Professor Slughorn of "Harry Potter") or David McCallum (Ducky in "NCIS") despite him prolly being middle-aged at this point in time.  
> -Dinner's reference: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ertx8fZiuxA  
> -Spot the Hamilton reference! :D


	2. An Inkling Of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anxiety overtakes Soumaya as the gravity of her behavior dawns on her. It doesn't help that she's summoned to the king's quarters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> O wow. Not even 5 mins. from posting & this fic gets hits. AND KUDOS! ^^ Thanks very much! Also... WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE WHY WAS THAT SO QUICK WERE Y'ALL JUST AS BALDWIN-STARVED AS ME THAT Y'ALL WERE WAITING IN THE WINGS FOR TOP TIER BALDWIN-POSTING??? Anyway, thanks for reading & stopping by! More to come eventually~  
> Sidenote: For some reason, my idea for Soumaya's physicality would be a younger Nasim Pedrad who plays Dalia in the "Aladdin" remake.

Soumaya closed the door behind her & began to unpack her belongings. Lawrence had been given his fill for the night at the palace stables. Not long after dinner, her baggage had been brought to her room. The seventeen-year-old lay her box of inks onto the table. With a quick scan & a prayer of thanks, nothing had been broken or spilled during transit. (She double-checked each cover before travelling.) Beside the pigments, she tossed her case of quills & roll of vellum sheets. She was about to continue digging through her paraphernalia when a knock on her door called her attention.  
"His majesty, King Baldwin IV Of Jerusalem requests the presence of Lady Soumaya," the attendant proclaimed from the other side. Soumaya cast her glance aside before opening the door. She gulped. _Oh no.  
  
_

* * *

  
The Arab attendant's Latin was accented but otherwise flawless. He must have been in his mid to late twenties: black beard, white turban, blue uniform emblazoned with the golden Jerusalem cross. He carried a torch, leading Soumaya to her destination.  
The corridors were lit by lamps & chandeliers. Their orange glow bounced off of the flames & onto the tessellated mosaics that shrouded the palace in intricacy. Moonlight filtered through geometric latticework. Courtyard pools & fountains reflected the starry heavens. Some peacocks still strutted about before settling for the night.  
  
Most of this was lost on Soumaya, whose mind ran rampant despite her calm outward appearance. Her heart beat like the hooves of a racing camel on Jerusalem's sands. Her pulse, her sweat, her constricted pupils & dry mouth (despite being in relatively dim lighting & having finished dinner from not even an hour before) clued in to her internal disposition. _Oh God, oh God, oh God. Heaven help me-- No, **have** me since I'll be seeing St. Peter in a moment! The King's gonna have my head isn't he? Oh why did I have to run my mouth at the dinner table again? They might as well hang me for heresy now. Kiss the king's hand, contract leprosy-- more like kiss this apprenticeship goodbye... That, that, that whatshisname... Guy De Lasagna will see to it, I can feel it... Oh no, Lawrence! Oh, my sweet humpbacked baby boy, what will they do to him when I'm gone... _   
  
The servant clearing his throat at the door broke her mental rambling. He stepped aside to let her through. She swallowed & walked in.  
  


* * *

  
Several documents lay open on the king's desk: paperwork he'd already signed & some left unfinished before dinner. He stood by the bookshelf behind his table. He fancied some light reading before his guest arrived. Among the volumes were the Anjou family history, classical myth & literature, theses on faith, & books on & from around the Mediterranean. In his bandaged hands he held a chronicle of General Hannibal's campaigns against Rome. He had half a mind to pick up a book on Charlemagne but changed his choice at the last second.   
Carrying the book to his chair, his eyes kept on picking up the words, following sentence after sentence. But his mind formed no map of Carthage, no image of the ancient General nor his men nor war elephants. But a thought popped up in his absent-minded reading: this book was brought here by traders from the East. _The East... Constantinople?..._ _Soumaya.  
_A question to ask her hung over him. But before he could debate himself on whether or not it was appropriate to ask it, Soumaya's escort sounded. Baldwin laid the book down & beckoned his guest to enter.  
  


* * *

  
Soumaya's eyes wanted to wander around the bedchamber. It felt cozy & welcoming but held the air of a study or office. Instead, she set her focus on the masked monarch shrouded in white at his table, facing her as she entered.   
  
"I apologize for the late courtesy call," he started. _What?_ Soumaya thought. Dinner had ended & it may have been only eight or nine in the evening at most.  
"You're apologizing, sire?" He gestured to the chair in front of him where she took her seat. "If anything I should be the one saying sorry."  
"Whatever for?"  
"I didn't _exactly_ behave ladylike, did I?" She scratched her head. "Ran my mouth, disrespected elders," she counted her fingers. "Elders of rank, no less! I _sassed_. The Latin Patriarch!"  
"You should see Sibylla on her worse days," he chuckled.  
"She's a princess... Well within her rights. Me... I'm just some tradesman's daughter who got blessed--"  
"With brains?" The comment caught Soumaya offguard. She blushed. For a second her heart stopped as she stared blankly at the King. Mouth, semi-open.  
"With luck," she resumed deadpan. "And a connection."  
"The fact that the Archbishop delegated this duty to you, means that you're not just anyone, Soumaya," he pointed a bound finger at her. Split-second shock flashed on her face.  
"Archbishop Will... Oh no, no, no, no, no..." She slowly buried her face in her hands. Baldwin heard her muffle something in Greek. Her face slowly rose, not meeting his stare. "I think I just made a fool of my teacher in front of the royal court of Jerusalem & her king... I'd need to write an apology letter..."  
"Lady Soumaya," King Baldwin tutted, leaning over his table to view her shrinking, slumping form. "Our _daskalos_ has nothing but love for you," her form remained slouched in place as her eyes darted to his.  
" _Really?_ " she replied in Greek.  
"Yes," he aptly nodded before sitting back. Soumaya straightened herself on her chair, hands on her lap, ankles crossed. "If anyone's made a mockery of himself via sheer bravado, it's Guy De Lusignan. But he'll never admit his faults. So I apologize in his stead-- the reason of this courtesy call."  
This was mostly true & Baldwin knew it. Nevertheless, the question lingered in his headspace.   
"Though in a sense, he _did_ treat you like an equal. He treats almost everyone like that. Even Sibylla."  
"How awful. Did you see the way he snapped at her? I really didn't mind her asking," Soumaya laid a hand over her new tattoo.  
"Had there been any other eligible suitor, I would have...

"I _hate_ the way he treats her..." Baldwin trailed off, his fist clenching on the table. He reminded himself he was with company.  
"So much for manners & high-borne nobility," she crossed her arms & cast her glance aside.  
"I pray you take no offense."  
"I can take it. Really. I pray _you_ take no offense for earlier, your majesty. I too, seek forgiveness," she lowered her head.  
"For?"  
"What was the word you used? Ah. Yes. "Brazen!" We just met. I kiss your hand & we just met."  
"I see... if my affliction threatens you so..."  
"Oh my God. No. I meant--" Baldwin began to laugh again.  
"Yes, yes. I jest. Worry not, _mon amie_."  
"Yes, I suppose I deserve getting called that-- whatever it is."  
"Wait. What. _Non._ I'm not _insulting_ you. It means "my friend" in French... And... kissing the hand _is_ a valid greeting for people of rank-- albeit people of rank with no leprosy."  
"Ohhh... I can't speak French."  
"Really? I would have never guessed," he smiled behind the mask. _Note to self: learn French_ , Soumaya thought.   
"Sooo... I'm your friend?" She smiled. "We just met & already I'm your friend. Is it because I kissed your hand? Which I shouldn't have done in the first place & for what? Just to continue mouthing off with Guy at the dinner table? To assert dominance, I used a king like a pawn," crossing her legs she cast a sideways glance again. She stroked her chin before looking at him. "Regretful be the heart, your highness," fingers splayed on her chest.  
"I thought it was worth it. That look on his face when you kissed me... For once he's quiet & not proclaiming his name & status for all the world to hear. Also: what's a woman unafraid of death have to be scared about?"   
"I did say that."  
She smiled an apologetic smile. _What is it with him?_ He seemed to put her mind at ease. Moments ago her heart beat wildly in her chest as her mind raced. Now, before her king, she was calmer than the Jordan River on a windless day. And she wanted to stay that way. _"Kissed him," he said_ ,she mentally chuckled at the thought. God in Heaven above, she wanted to stay. But reminding herself of earlier's shamelessness, despite what the king said, she resolved to go.  
"But I don't think Guy De Lusignan's a man worth sacrificing my decorum over," she stood. "If we're done apologizing to each other, I think I'll take my leave, sire," she bent. But as she rose to turn, a chess table caught her sight. Eyes that once wanted to wander were transfixed on the game.  
"You referenced chess just now. Do you play?" Baldwin got off his chair & went to the board.  
"All the time," She joined him, taking the ebony side.  
Travelling took time, held many rest stops & pauses with down time to spare at encampments & caravanserais. Plenty of time to spar in chess with your father. Or whoever was willing. Soumaya would rather not mention the times she decided to gamble. Albeit they were harmless wagers like free portraits. She felt she'd tarnished the court's first impression of herself enough. However... the court wasn't there that evening. It was just her & her king, alone in his room with a chess board between them. If she lost to him... if it meant staying there for longer... she wouldn't mind... But if she beat him: The King Of Jerusalem... that would be an ego boost like no other.   
  
"Are you usually so brash?" King Baldwin moved a white pawn.  
"I have tendencies," they began to alternate moves. "Again, I apologize. The wine might have brought that out."  
"You drank nothing but sharbat tonight," and with that Soumaya stopped before her fingertips could touch her right knight. Her eyes darted from the board to his gaze.   
"You were watching me?" Her tone accusatory before she made her knight jump a pawn.   
"Well, a king must remain vigilant. Leprosy has rid me of many senses. What I have left, I utilize."  
"Okay, fair enough," his knight took her bishop. Her pawn took his knight.  
Soumaya moved quickly. And just as quickly, Baldwin took her pieces. Not even a minute would pass between some turns.  
"Have you ever considered joining a holy order? It seems that any congregation would welcome zeal such as yours."  
"With my... "brashness?" As you put it? They'd _**un**_ welcome me in a heartbeat.  
"It's crossed my mind before, your majesty. But I don't think the monastic life is for me. In my opinion, if one doesn't hear the call, best not beckon lest you get cold feet at the ceremony pledging such commitment," _tsk_ , she thought when he took her rook. _This leper may not have much skin_ _left_ _but he sure does bite._ "Besides, I think I lack the stamina to transcribe all hours of the day. In a cell. In a habit. Hand clutched in ungodly cramping... meat rationed all the time..."  
"A tragedy for all convents to be sure." _Oh, so now it **his** turn to make with the flattery_, she thought. "But you _do_ write?"  
"Since I could pick up a quill, yeah. Wouldn't be here otherwise. I do poetry & illumination, too. Brought all the good pigments, ready for committing your memory unto forever, sir."  
"Well, I hope your hands never cramp. Mine, however... have lost feeling since childhood. By the mercy of God, I still can write."  
"And govern.   
"And speaking of monasticism, I haven't been inside yet but I have seen St. Catherine's monastery. Mighty thoughtful of you to dedicate it after Montgisard."  
"I only saw it fitting since our victory fell on her feast day," a bishop for a bishop: Baldwin attacked Soumaya's piece.   
Guilt pinged in the Leper King's mind. It seemed all too easy & felt like he was taking advantage of a lesser skilled player. But he remembered training & fighting. At some point in his company, Marshal Tiberias said, "Act now. Ask forgiveness later." It stuck with the young sovereign, especially when he'd pick up a sword & spar against comrades. And speaking of guilt, he decided to ask:  
"Lady Soumaya if I may,"  
"Claim your victory? Not til checkmate," she was looming over the board. Her fingers wiggled in the air, awaiting her decision.  
" _No._ I've been meaning to ask... what happened to your leg?" Her eyes darted immediately to him.  
"So you _were_ watching me," she reclined. "Hm."  
  
If her robes were long enough, Soumaya could try gliding to hide her limp. But why would she? She wasn't afraid of strangers' judgement over an injury that she couldn't control but had taken it's toll. It wasn't difficult. But it was visible.   
She stared him down past her nose.   
"If I had trespassed," he began.  
"Like your sister, I don't mind. Truly.  
"I was about to ask if this was an interrogation."  
"Through the course of your career, you will get to know me: how I run this country & how I defend it. If we're to spend all this time together, would it not be fair that I get to know an inkling of you, my lady?"  
"I suppose. _Poly kala._ I... I'm not sure if it counts as a long story."  
"Well we have all night... or at least til someone wins at chess."  
"Hm. Yes. The suspension will kill us all!" Her bangles jingled as she stamped an ebony pawn to a defensive position. "But you _will_ have my... _your?_ Not-sure-if-it's-long story," she leaned back & looked at him through his eyeholes. She inhaled & looked up in reminiscence.   
"It may have been three in the morning. It may not have. But it was definitely past midnight. I awoke to the darkness in between where summer mingled with the fall. I tossed & I turned. Try as I might, I could not return to slumber. I figured, might as well get work done before sunrise. So I got out of bed & headed to our chapel, lamp in hand. I lit the room so I could continue on this mural--"  
"You paint as well?"  
"Crafts... scripture... whatever else. But this wasn't a fresco. It was a mosaic & the unfinished part was reaching the ceiling," she stretched her spine upwards, hand raised, illustrating height.   
"Anyway, we had scaffolding in place. I got the tiles & plaster & set about finishing Christ's halo & a section of Mother Mary's veil," Baldwin hung on every word, head leaning into his palm, index finger to his temple. "I stand still, tiling one area at a time then move onto the next. The scaffolding would bounce but I paid it no heed & continued. I moved & I moved... When I heard a creak & a snap, my realization only gave way to shock."  
"You fell..."  
"Yes... And no. While I was falling, a rope tied to the ceiling knotted round my ankle. Then I fainted & woke up in bed with my parents, our physician, & a forceful ache shooting through my right leg in a splint. It was morning then."  
"What happened?"  
"My nanny found me in the chapel, unconscious & hanging by my dislocated ankle. I guess the pain was so fearsome, it didn't even register," she gestured with her fingers to her temple. "My ankle, my knee **_&_** my hip joint: all dislocated," she made a cutting motion with her hands. Baldwin's wide eyes darted to her leg then back at her. The chess table & her baggy trousers obscured his view. "Obviously, it got better. Everything's where it needs to be. But I don't know if this dull ache will ever go away.  
We found out later," Soumaya gestured for her King to continue playing. He took an unguarded pawn with his queen. "That not only had a screw been loose, but parts of the wooden planes had worn away over time," she moved her queen three squares forward.  
"I was not able to travel for awhile. My mother stayed behind with me," she exhaled a little laugh. "And we shared in the joy when Archbishop Will's letter came," she moved her remaining rook one square.  
"Must be pleasant having your parents by your side... always," said the Leper King as one of his bishops ate her rook. Both their eyes lowered to the monochrome grid. King Amalric died of a fever four years ago. And now, his first wife, Agnes Of Courtenay held some sway over the Haute Cour, being the current monarch's biological mother. To Soumaya, knowledge meant _knowing_ these facts; Wisdom meant not adding anything else to the conversation right now for how could she tell how he felt: their lives & parentage so different from each other? She could ask. But chose not to. And the two continued to play in comfortable silence. Until Baldwin took her second to the last pawn.  
  
"What was Saladin like?"   
"In negotiations, he received me well enough. He treated me like an equal. He always wore black: very stately. Regal, even. With a well-worn face."  
"That last bit could be interpreted two ways, your highness: either the sands of time & trouble have aged him, _or_ he wears that age well."  
"Both. He might as well be my polar opposite-- leprosy ravages me here in my youth while he ages into his prime with grace. He had his days in the sun, proving his mettle in battle over a storied career & succession. Meanwhile, I had everybody else's confidence-- or lack thereof, thrust upon me at Montgisard.  
"Even I feel we share some headaches when it comes to certain soldiers." _Is he talking about Guy?_ Soumaya thought. "Had we been born during another place & another time, I feel we would have been the greatest of allies." _If you were born in another place in another time, you wouldn't have this horrible disease.  
_ ''I'll get the time to know this eventually, your majesty. But presently, I can't imagine what it's like to be in your boots: you being Jerusalem & all that: light of the people, their hope & their future in your gloved hands, theirs & the pilgrims' protector, leader of their army... But when Archbishop Will found out, the court expected you to wear a crown but stay in bed, like you said."  
"And die."  
" _Then_ die! But after Montgisard... maybe even before then-- I can't know what's not written down & published... they still expected you to be a king."  
"Oh, to be nothing & everything," he exhaled, smiling with his lowered eyes to the chessboard as he advanced his remaining knight. "Puzzling, isn't it?"  
"You got me. Do you ever plan on invading?"  
"Right now, we are merely guarding ourselves. If anything, lying in wait."  
"Like a sleeping dragon," Soumaya took a pawn between her knuckles. Her ebony forces taken by the king organized in a neat row, side by side at the sovereign's right. While Baldwin's fallen pieces stood scattered by the board's left.  
"Maybe seeking ideas from the past will help. Since you seem the type to find inspiration in beating Sultan Saladin by browsing the Carthaginian General's battle plans," Baldwin's eyes blinked wide at her while Soumaya remained fixated on the board. The entire night, he sensed Soumaya's eyes on him, if not the floor, ceiling, chessboard or the view outside his balcony. "Or perhaps you looked to the ancient kings of Europe for guidance? Or heed advice from the battle masters of antiquity?" For all he knew & read, she was focused on him the entire time. Her glance, to his knowledge, barely left his. His bookshelf spanned an entire wall & was almost floor to ceiling, save for some cabinet space at the bottom. To scan most of the titles in a flash wasn't something he was expecting. Let alone general knowledge of those subjects for a woman. Then again, they shared a tutor. _That_ tutor. _Yeah, that's right. You're not the only one who can be vigilant_ , his mild shock registered on her.  
"Checkmate," her queen slid diagonally across to topple the king's piece. Baldwin lowered himself to eye the chessboard's level, edging this way & that to see different angles.  
"I see..." he walked over to her side. Soumaya tossed the chess piece up & down. "You distracted me with dialogue while fortifying your left flank," he held his chin. "Then you slowly ate away at my pieces, sacrificing many of your own to clear a path to my king," he looked to the smirking girl beside him. Cross-legged, she continue to toss the king up & down. "Did you plan all this?"  
"Hah!" She snatched the piece in the air. "No," she stood. "Sheer. Dumb. Reckless. Luck," she smooched the white chess piece's cheek before laying it beside Baldwin's other confiscated forces. "I honestly didn't think it would work."  
The two stood side by side, arms crossed, assessing the aftermath of their pseudo-battle.   
"So why attempt anything if you're unsure of the outcome?"  
"Well sometimes, doing something is better than nothing.   
"Aaaaaaand... because I can."  
  
Before she could face Baldwin, the first cock crow of the night sounded. The two of them snapped their heads to the still-dark, starry sky.   
"St. Peter must be in denial again," she surmised. He let out a dry scoff. The two faced each other, completely in sync.  
" _Bonne nuit_ , my new chronicler," Soumaya smiled at this, half-understanding. "It means "good night.""  
"I figured, your majesty. Thank you again for having me," she bowed.  
"It's " _merci_ " in French. " _Merci beaucoup._ ""  
" _Merci_ ," she curtsied looking down. " _Beacoup._ "  
For the first time, Baldwin felt the urge to reach out: to take her by the chin to raise her dark eyes to meet his. But he decided against it. Instead, when she rose, he took her hand in his right glove.  
"Goodbye for now," he put her fingers to the lips of his mask. And with that, she took her leave.  
  


* * *

  
When Soumaya was a ways down the corridor, sure no soul was looking, she looked over her shoulder. Her heart beat fast in her chest once more, warmth blooming in her cheeks. The coolness of the peck still lingered on her knuckles. She continued to walk. The breeze was as calm as her disposition. No longer did she feel panicked or afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Get cho self a man who chesses the anxiety away.  
> -I had to note down the chess losses to keep track of the game & to make sure the flow made sense.  
> -Meanwhile in Tyre, Archbishop Will prolly sneezed.


	3. Lawrence Of Mediterranea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soumaya rides through the desert in search of clarity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for grammatical errors, typos & what not. Do let me know if y'all find em. Finna weed them out myself.

Soumaya awoke to the song of birds upon a cool dawn. The light of a blue morning passed through a glass window. The fireplace had long gone out but that wasn't what made her room feel gloomy. She turned on her side & thought back to last night. She lifted to see the Jerusalem cross on her left forearm. The tattoo was on its way to healing. Her lips cracked a dry smile.   
Parched, she sat up to drink from the pitcher at her bedside. As she swallowed, the water's briskness only reminded her of being alone in this room. Even the ivory comb she picked up felt cool to the touch as she began to detangle her hair. Despite being under linens & furs, everything felt cold in comparison to Baldwin's room: aglow with light & the smell of incense.   
The Leper King himself smelled of herby poultice & medicines. His white robes may have been smoked by perfume. Without a mouth, he smiled with his eyes. His voice was only a little above a whisper but he spoke with distinction. She began to miss him. _Miss him?_ She paused her combing & shook away the thought, laying the comb down.   
  
She's here to work & work should begin after breakfast. She surmised that the staff should still be cooking while the nobles remained in their beds, Baldwin included. Lawrence popped up in her head & she wanted to clear it before the day's first meal.  
  


* * *

  
Soumaya gingerly shut the door to her apartment, unsure who would be up at this hour. Her dangling accessories lightly tinkled with her movements. She had donned fresh robes & a turban. Her eyes were newly lined with kohl.  
  
She strolled down the shadowy halls where lamps had already been extinguished. The only sound existing was the rhythmic tap of her limping footsteps. That was, until the whimpering of a baby reached her ears. Perplexed, she looked around. Her heart picked up the beat after skipping one. _Alone in a deserted corridor before six in the morning is no place to hear a baby crying!_ Trying to ground her frightened thoughts with logic, she decided to investigate. She followed the wailing to where it became louder. A woman's voice surfaced, cooing & shushing the child-- a voice she recognized from dinner.  
Soumaya found a balcony. It overlooked a courtyard below. _Oh thank God, I'm definitely **not** going insane. _She exited via a nearby staircase to downstairs, bathed in blue since the tiles reflected a morning that had yet to fully rise.  
  


* * *

  
"Good morning, Princess," she saluted Sibylla who swayed with a baby in her arms. _Even when she's just awoken & shushing a screaming babe in her arms she still looks so lovely._  
"Did you have pleasant dreams last night, Soumaya?" The princess smiled.  
"A pleasant, dreamless slumber, madam. Your brother saw to that," she said without thinking.  
"What?"  
"What."  
"I mean... he taught me how to French-- I mean! He taught me _some_ French after we played chess last night... After he apologized for... your husband," Soumaya held her hands behind her back, awkwardly. _Smooth_ , she thought as Sibylla looked perturbed, one brow in the air. _Oh God, why did King Baldwin have to say the words "kiss me."_  
"I see..." Sibylla squinted her eyes. Cold sweat broke out of nowhere on Soumaya's forehead under Sibylla's perceived scrutiny. "You're up early, as well."  
"Ah yes, I was about t--"  
The baby continued to wail & fuss between them.  
"What's wrong, little one?" Soumaya leaned in to see the infant's weeping face.  
"He's named after his uncle but we call him Badouinet," Sibylla continued bouncing him & patting his back. "He's been fed, changed. I don't know what's gotten into him."  
"May I?" Soumaya held her arms out. Up close, she could see all the dribbling snot, drool & tears. Baby teeth poked out of his gums. Tufts of golden hair sprouted from his head. Wet, blue eyes rivalled the red in his plump cheeks that grew ruddy from the strain of crying.  
  
Soumaya put him against her shoulder, caressing his back. She swayed to the falsetto tune of her own immediate invention. Though it was flat, the baby boy began to quiet down to sniffling as she soothed his back. One tiny fist balled around the tail of her turban. The other, into his mouth it went. Sibylla was speechless as Soumaya turned her back on the princess so she could see her son's face.   
" _Hello, my love,_ " she whispered in French, crouching to his eye level as she caressed his head. Through tear-stained, hay-colored lashes, the prince looked at his smiling mother. His feathery brows still arched in discontent. She took the tubby, little fist wrapped around the turban & kissed it. Soumaya could feel mucus, tears & saliva dampen her jacket. Princess Sibylla freed his fingers from the writer's headpiece.  
"There," Soumaya lifted Baldwin by the armpits to face her. "Glad we could settle this like--" His lips began to quiver again & like a corroded dam, he burst, screaming his head off once more. The two women beside each other, Sibylla's exasperation complemented Soumaya's disbelief. After a moment of silence from the ladies coupled with more tantrums from Baldwin, Soumaya spoke.  
"I have an idea," she waltzed to the nearby fountain & perched at its edge. Sure her robes were not touching the rim, she leaned in. She saw their reflection & gasped.   
  
"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Look, your highness!" She pointed down. "Is that anyway a prince should behave?" He stopped & looked into the pool, too. "That simply won't do, you see. We must act according--" he reached out for her many layered bangles. Soumaya edged away from the font & set the toddler between herself & his mother. She took off a bracelet & handed it to him. It came from India & had a bell-shaped tassel made of metal links. Above him, she dangled another, one with actual bells. His eyes & ears followed it before she handed it to him. The boy focused on the accessories, mesmerized by their shine, feel & sound. The princess' & the scribe's eyes met & the two women breathed a sigh of relief. Until Badouinet opened his mouth to put them in.  
"NO!" They cried out in unison, separating the boy from his playthings. But he did not weep in his mother's arms. He simply reached out to Soumaya with wide eyes, staring at her accessories. Princess Sibylla handed her son to the writer who proceeded to dangle her forearm above him. And the prince began to smile.  
"Have you worked with children before, Soumaya?"  
"I was about to see my baby," she beamed at the shocked noble. "Wanna come?"  
  


* * *

  
Sibylla held her nose. Her other hand cradled Badouinet in the crook of her elbow. His eyes still transfixed on Soumaya's hands even as she pet ochre fur.  
"This' Lawrence. He was a gift to my father from a business associate when he was but a calf. I laid my eyes on him when I was a wee lass myself & we've been inseparable ever since!"  
"Is he safe?" Sibylla approached the chewing animal who seemed altogether indifferent to the petting.  
"If you think so, I was about to ask you if you want to come? Baby Baldwin too, if you'd allow."  
  


* * *

  
Lawrence trotted out of the Jaffa gate with the two women on top of him. Their scarves & turbans shielded most of their faces. Sibylla sat behind Soumaya, one arm wound tightly around her pilot's waist, the other around her baby beneath her cloak. The day would only grow brighter as the sun began to paint the sandscape around them.  
"Can you go any faster?" The princess asked over Soumaya's shoulder.  
"Will the prince be alright?" She yelled against the wind.  
"Yes! I have him," Sibylla looked down at Badouinet, wide awake between the two of them but largely unbothered.   
"YAH!" Soumaya cracked Lawrence's reins as his hooves sped up the pace.  
  


* * *

  
They came upon an oasis with palms splayed high & wide enough for shade. It wasn't that hot yet but the sun's rays only beat down brighter. The chronicler helped the princess dismount, holding her hand. Then she lead Lawrence to the waterhole where he began to slurp. His lengthy lashes batted contentedly. The whipping wind replaced by a sparse breeze, the women unmasked themselves. Sibylla unfurled a blanket & sat under the morning shadows to check on her baby.  
"So?" Soumaya whipped her head back to Sibylla when the princess broke the silence. "What French did the king teach last night, Lady Soumaya?"  
"Uhh," Soumaya continued to hold her came's reins as she tried to recollect. "" _Mon_ _amie_ \--" which means "my friend." And uh, " _merci_." " _Merci_ _beacoup_ ," "thanks." To show gratitude, I take it."   
"Ahhh," the princess' voice dripped with intrigue. "What know you to call him a "friend" already?" _Lady,_ Soumaya thought. _He called me "friend" first._  
"To be fair, your highness? Too little to be a true one. First things first, I'm a chronicler apprenticed by the Archbishop. King Baldwin just happens to be my subject. Buuut... as far as introductions go, it's as good as any: he loves knowledge-- I've glanced his collection & it's no pithy amount. And I feel his hand has an even grasp on his kingdom... all things considered."  
"That he does," Badouinet babbled in Sibylla's arms. He hiccuped. "You know... my brother, being in a place of power, has the potential to attract many so-called "friends." Anybody in that position should expect so. But for obvious reasons, they keep their distance," she stroke her baby's hair. Soumaya continued to listen while tending to Lawrence. "He could use a friend."  
"Yes... yes, I suppose so," Soumaya smiled to herself.  
"But make no mistake," Sibylla's voice hardened. Soumaya stilled as she felt the noblewoman's eyes burn into her back. "Baldwin is smart enough to know if he's being manipulated. The both of us were raised to prepare for that. Nevertheless... use him? Hurt him? And it **will** _be_ the last thing you **_ever_** do," the tone was so abruptly venomous, Soumaya felt like a mouse being stared down by a viper. All she can do was swallow as an imaginary dagger at her throat disappeared.  
"Duly noted," her voice cracked as she didn't dare look back.   
  
At this point, Badouinet sat up in his mother's lap & spat at the sand. Milky, throwup dribbled down his chin. Soumaya made Lawrence kneel, grabbing a rag from a pouch. She wiped the mess away but it had already stained his clothes. Some spittle landed on Sibylla's robes.   
"Breakfast will be served soon," Sibylla soothed the child's belly.  
"We should head back," Soumaya agreed.  
  
And so, Soumaya helped the mother & child mount her camel. The two women masked themselves once more before Soumaya took the reins.  
  


* * *

  
It wasn't long after the beginning of breakfast service when Soumaya & Sibylla arrived at the table. The other nobles had already started picking at their fish & fruits.   
Soumaya glanced at the empty head of the table. She didn't intend her disappointment to be so obvious as she sat down.   
"The king might already be dining," the knight across her broke her longing. She turned to him. "Usually, he prefers eating alone. Princess."  
"Good morning, Baron," the two traded pecks on the cheek. "Will you be seeing my brother later?"  
"Yes, we will be discussing outposts on the pilgrim road."  
"Have you met our new chronicler?"  
"William's girl?" He looked at Soumaya. "Not until now. A pleasure, Lady Soumaya," he held out his hand to her.  
"Pleasure's all mine," he pecked her hand.   
"Soumaya," Sibylla started. "This is Baron Godfrey Of Ibelin. He & his knights guard the path of the pilgrims towards Jerusalem."  
"May God keep you & your men safe, sir," Soumaya held her hand over her heart.  
"And to you as well, my lady," the baron toasted to her.   
  
"You said you will be seeing the king after breakfast?"  
"Yes."  
"We can go together," Soumaya began cutting into her fish. "Right after I've had my fill."  
  


* * *

  
Soumaya cleared her throat after the servant announced her name. Godfrey decided to stay behind, chatting with Sibylla while Soumaya went ahead, having finished early. She carried with her a folding bureau that housed her parchment & paraphernalia.   
"Oh hello, Lady Soumaya," the Leper King greeted.  
"Good morning, your majesty," she walked in. "Did you enjoy your breakfast?"  
"Leprosy has not ravaged my sense of taste yet," he pointed to a spot corner adjacent to his table, seeing her looking around where to set up.   
  
"Baron Godfrey shall be joining us later if the princess doesn't occupy him the whole day," she smiled. "Shall we get started? What are you working on?" She waltzed by his side after opening her bureau & unpacking.  
"I am currently overseeing an ongoing construction project," he continued his arithmetic. Soumaya cocked her head at the map underneath.   
"Sir. Isn't this the sultan's territory?"  
"Exactly."  
"Oh my Lord, you're building a castle at--"  
"Jacob's Ford," the teenagers proclaimed in unison.   
Soumaya started for her desk & pulled out a notebook from a cabinet. She wet a quill with ink & began to scribble notes.   
"Interesting, stuff. Interesting."  
"It was the Templars' idea. And so, they shall guard the project site."  
  
Soumaya looked up once to listen then continued to feverishly write. Already, she could imagine what the illumination would look like; What colors were she to use. She unfurled the vellum sheets of their roll & began to fold & line them.   
  


* * *

Pictured: Lawrence ca. 1170  
(jkjk source: <https://www.pinterest.ph/pin/488218415824854129/>)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h_BU_P1casQ  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r3fWn5y8bDY


	4. Shame & Sickness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Archbishop Will did say Soumaya had an obsessive tendency.

For the following days, the two teenagers worked side by side, settling into a comfortable rhythm. Baldwin would be at his table & Soumaya would document or transcribe. Sometimes, Baldwin would toil way into the night. When he'd sense her eyelids faltering, he'd excuse her, much to her protestation. But in the end, she'd concede & return to her quarters, ready for the following morning.   
  
But one day, after breakfast, Lady Soumaya Of Byzantium's name was not proclaimed at the Leper King's door. He assumed she was busy in her room: binding gatherings, maybe. Or illuminating on her own. After all, he may be her king & the manuscript's subject. But he was not her employer.   
Neither did she arrive the following day.   
On the third, he decided to check up on her himself. Why? Concern? Curiosity? King Baldwin IV Of Jerusalem didn't even think about it as he knocked on Lady Soumaya's apartment door.  
"Lady Soumaya," he called from his mask. "Are you there?" The king could hear her limping footsteps straggle to her door.  
It creaked open, revealing a bloodshot eye darkened not by kohl, but by sleeplessness. The bag under it purpled like a bruise.  
"I knew I heard your voice, your majesty," she muffled through her niqab. "Don't come in. I don't want you to catch my cold," she sniffed, nostrils clogged.  
" _Ma cherie_ , what have you done?"  
"I was inspired by you, sir."  
"Inspired?"  
" _Oui_ ," she applied some of the French she'd learned in their chats. "How... despite your illness & everything, you persevere & work so tirelessly. Why, I felt so ashamed-- I've no excuse not to work & work I did."  
"My dear, it isn't my purpose to shame you."  
"Of course not. You're too gracious for that, I feel."  
"When Archbishop Will mentioned you working til exhaustion, I didn't think he meant it literally."  
"I told you I have not enough stamina to transcribe at a convent! Ugh, don't look at me. I feel dreadful-- I _look_ dreadful."  
"How do you think I feel, my lady?" He chuckled.  
"Now I've exhausted myself into a damn cold."  
"Yes, I'll have Dr. Sayed look you over & have something the cook could use as reference."  
"Your grace, you have my gratitude."  
"But first, let me see what you've toiled over. Only fair I verify that you're not lying, I suppose."  
  
Soumaya's eye looked her king up & down. And with that, she shut the door.   
" _Exscusez moi._ "  
He could hear her shuffling inside, followed by the drag of sheets she's wrapped herself with. Several papers slid from underneath the door.  
" _Je suis tres, tres desolee, mon roi._ I **really** don't want you catching what I've got."   
  
_I wish I could say the same for the last part, Soumaya._ King Baldwin IV Of Jerusalem stooped to the floor then rose with the pages. These didn't look like manuscript illuminations of spiralling letters & knights battling giant snails. These were drawings of people so easily recognizable in their physicality alone. A moment in time, captured in either red, blue or black ink. The king saw his sister, nestling his nephew under the shade of a tree; the Marshal of Jerusalem & his iconic scar, looking seriously at the viewer; and the aged but refined Baron Of Ibelin in profile as he cast his view to some unknown distance. And then, there was him: rendered in blue ink as he caressed the parchment with his white glove. He saw how she captured the roughness around his eyes, how his lashes touched the rims of the eyeholes.  
"I'm not only practicing illumination, sire. I need to practice other art forms lest I undergo stagnation. I have to juggle it all, you see. Forgive me, once again?"  
"I will return these after you get better, Lady Soumaya," he addressed the door. "Don't be sorry. Get well," he started down the hallway. "And get some sleep!" He yelled behind him. _I await your return by my side._  
  
Soumaya peeked at the corridor & watched the king's retreating form. As he walked, he rifled through each one again, admiring his scribe's handiwork. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Reference: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nuNfdHNTv9o  
> -And is it me or does Ed Norton as King Baldwin kinda sound like Ralph Fiennes as Ramses from "The Prince Of Egypt?"


	5. Chicken With Honey & Garlic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baldwin & Soumaya go on a "blind date."

Dr. Sayed Of Edessa diagnosed Lady Soumaya with a cold & a fever. He instructed her to drink juices & water, get plenty of bedrest & collaborated with the cook, Madame Shoshana, to fix meals rich in honey, garlic & spices to sweat the fever out. Within a week, Lady Soumaya Of Byzantium was beside her king, ready to write once more.  
"What happened to your hand?" The king lifted her bandaged right hand into the light.  
"Blisters. Sprains. Dr. Sayed patched me up nicely & some of them'll heal into callouses. But sometimes I don't know the limits of my obsessions."  
  


* * *

  
One day, lunch hour approached the two of them. The routine at this point would be for Soumaya to leave & join the other nobles as Baldwin ate alone.  
"Your majesty, do you ever grow lonely during your meals?" She asked, hunched over her table while finishing a sentence.  
"I'm used to it," he replied, stamping his seal on freshly dripped wax. His eyes never left his workspace. "Besides, my chores keep me plenty busy," dipped his quill in ink.  
"No papers should have to suffice for human company & we're proof people need to rest, even if we're doing something we love."  
Baldwin looked up, eyes hooded & deadpan in his mask.   
"I enjoy neither paperwork nor warfare," he lowered his head back to signing. "I enjoy marching in the sweltering heat as much as I enjoy leprosy. I march because my men march. It is only right. If I must spar & fight out of necessity I will-- just like going over these documents. History, learning, mental sparring: these I take pleasure in. I'd dine with you if I could. Like the evening we first met."  
"I'd dine with you, if you would have me," she casually remarked after some silence, pen never halting.   
But Baldwin's did. He shot a look at her as she began another paragraph.  
"Soumaya."  
"Here," She finished a word then wiped her quill against a rag. Sure the ink was dry, she rolled the vellums & capped the ink wells. Soumaya carried he bureau further back into the study. She rotated it so her back was to him. She drew the brocade curtains, completely obscuring her from view. "Can you still hear me?" Her eyes scanned for any reflective surfaces that may betray her confidence.  
"You needn't yell, I can hear you just fine."  
Soumaya's head poked past the patterned fabric.  
"I won't peek, I swear."  
  


* * *

  
Both their food was brought to Baldwin's chamber per his request. It was Soumaya's request that she be served a dish that aided in her recuperation: orange juice served with ice & an herbed, spiced chicken smothered with honey sauce overflowing with minced, fried garlic. Some flakes of fish were piled on the side, seasoned with salt & pepper.  
She could not see what the king would be eating but only heard the dome being lifted off his plate & the servant leaving. The smell of salty fried fish wafted to her location. She could hear the fabric of his fingers slide on metal. Then a tap on the wood of his table.   
"You haven't already started, have you?" his voice brought her back down to earth. It sounded unmuffled now.  
"No, no. I'm waiting on you," she hollered from behind the curtain.   
"Raise your glass, Lady Soumaya," He raised his own goblet as she followed his command. "For today, you dine with your king."  
"I relish & toast to the honor." 


	6. Nothing & Everything

1179  
  
"What becomes of us?" Baldwin asked as he looked out onto the vast grassland.  
"If we survive this?" Soumaya began. "We'll rendezvous back in Jerusalem. Til then I'll be hanging back."  
Baldwin nodded then raised his murky blue eyes to the horizon. His eyes darted next to him.  
"Do we need to say anything that shouldn't remain unsaid?"  
"Eitherway, we can just reunite in Heaven & tell each other everything then," she chuckled.  
" _Au revoir, mon amie._ "  
"Good luck," she smiled & whispered under her breath before yelling "HYAH!" & whipping Lawrence's reins.  
  
Lawrence galloped past ranks & ranks of soldiers. Soumaya aimed for a hill totally overlooking Jerusalem's army. It was her first conflict.  
  


* * *

  
Before they got to where they were now, Soumaya was beside Baldwin as they approached Jerusalem's gates. To get there, Soumaya had to rely on more lipservice than usual to convince the king of her convictions.  
"Remember your majesty, by the archbishop, you are _my_ charge & not the other way around."  
She promised, "No matter what happens," she would not get involved if it meant doing her job. And so, Baldwin allowed her.  
Soumaya packed a field kit onto Lawrence: a lap board, ink & ink wells, some quills, spare parchment, her pen knife & her notebook. Somehow, she managed to mount a parasol onto her camel.  
  
Before they passed through the portal, Soumaya cantered ahead to find a suitable spot out of the troops' way. They marched on as she watched, sketching the ranks while multitasking, scribbling her notes like the plethora of flags, which faction they represented, what colors they bore, etc.   
Once the ink had dried, she rode alongside some of the men, asking about their lives, if it was alright to record. Some were born into knighthood, some had knighthood thrust upon them. Some came for glory, others came from humility. Some felt their service to their king & God would right some wrong they've committed or ease the process of forgiveness. Or forgiveness by proxy. Some chose their faction for their multidisciplinary practices. All the way, Soumaya wrote what she could. She made sure not to skip the servants, squires & clergymen as well as healers. She had no shortage of accounts from opinions on conflict, to complaining about the heat, to proclamations of faith & protecting their city to anti-Saracen sentiments. One monk allowed himself to moan about a blister wedged between his second & third toe. Meanwhile, Soumaya could feel her own callus harden under such manic writing.  
One of the physicians accompanying them was Dr. Sayed Of Edessa, King Baldwin's current personal physician. Soumaya got to chat him up plenty while he tended to her back at the palace:   
  
_Born in Edessa & baptized a Christian, he belonged to an Arabic family. His father too, was a physician & his mother, a tutor. When he came of age, he began to train alongside of his father. Steadfast & meticulous, he earned a position in the palace as the doctor tending to the king's wounds.   
_  
She continued to write during her en route interview.  
  
 _...But now, we are on the warpath. Dr. Sayed had the cushy option of staying behind. He did not. He chose to ride with us, with his king, his associates & me. I had to ask why. First guess would be as good as mine: the paycheck. (I didn't tell him that, of course.) He looked at me dead in the eye & said, "Money buys food, medicine, survival. Money does not guarantee loyalty... That man?" He points to his majesty, riding ahead of us. "Does." _  
  
Soumaya couldn't help but smile as she wrote the quote down.  
"What're you giggling at?" The doctor leaned in, asking & deadpan. His hurried baritone voice made Soumaya jump.  
"Nothing! I think I hear his highness calling!"Soumaya made Lawrence gallop forward, almost losing some papers to the wind.  
"Silly girl, that one," the doctor shook his head. "Inquisitive. But often silly." _  
  
_Every couple dozen meters, she would stop & continue sketching: half of her mind already deciding on the illumination imagery or whether or not to use gold leaf. If it hadn't been for her parched breath, she might have forgotten to drink entirely.   
This would be the norm while on the move. Come nightfall, she'd visit Baldwin but spend dinner round the campfires with Tiberias & the other soldiers. If they'd allow, she'd jot down their stories & songs. Then they'd retire to their tents. Soumaya had her own small tent nearby the king's.  
Alone in her quarters, she'd review what she'd written by candlelight. She'd add footnotes, corrections, & annotate study sketches. Soumaya reminded herself to sleep early for camp rose before sunrise then marched for the rest of the day.  
  
The army marched north. And for many miles, they followed the coast. Soon enough, they arrived at Mount Lebanon: specifically, Marj Ayyoun.  
  


* * *

  
The Leper King, Baldwin IV Of Jerusalem beheld the scene before him: a prairie dotted by a black mass of tents & the soldiers of his enemy. The Marshal Tiberias rode up beside him.  
"My lord?"  
"Go."  
  
The Count shouted the command to charge. On horse, on foot, the army of Jerusalem rained down on Saladin's encampment.  
  


* * *

  
 _Far away. Or at least, far away enough. I perched Lawrence on a small plateau. Even then, even there, I could feel the ground shudder beneath his hooves. I may be conflating the thunderous charge with the thrum of my heart.  
  
_ Soumaya had never seen murder & war on this scale before: so violent, visceral & _real_. It _was_ a far cry from just reading about it or watching plays or imagining it. The screams & horses whinnying & clash of metal were loud enough to make her feel so close to it. Like a moth to a flame, she knew if she got too close, it would burn her. But it beckoned to her so intimately, she might as well have felt the spray of dirt & blood & a man's dying breath.  
Within this trance, she willed her shaking hand to write some more.  
  
 _The faint, summer zephyr dragged with it the smell of salt & iron. Rust & grease & livestock. Here at Marj Ayyoun, neither Saracen nor Christian spoke. They only screamed their battle cry, their songs of wounded anguish. (Will I hear pleas for mercy soon? I don't know yet.) The only conversation that existed was between their weapons: the clang of sword versus word, of shields deflecting spears.  
How could anyone tell who was fighting who when all their tunics of crosses & turbans & silks & mail were red with blood & browned by dirt: this tangle of bodies both so intimate & nondiscriminatory? For a moment in time, it feels like no rank exists: no serfs, no soldiers, no kings. Only a dance of life, death, war & pain...  
  
_Soumaya continued to write, looking up once & again. After a couple of minutes, she was forced to do a double take: a majority of the Saracens either lay on the ground or were rounded up in little huddles, made to sit down.  
Of Jerusalem's army, she could spot her king & the count ride among them. Some Muslims were made to kneel in a row, Christian knights behind them. And as they unsheathed their swords from their belts & raised them high, a notion in Soumaya's being told her to look away. But she didn't. She held her breath & her gut dropped. But she didn't look away. She had no word for this feeling that was neither pleasure nor grief. It wasn't excitement or pain... it felt like nothing & everything all at once-- like a stopper on her emotions.  
As more bearded heads tumbled onto the grass, she continued to write til either there were no longer any Saracens to execute or imprison.  
  
It was afternoon & the sun was readying to set. Knights & infantrymen fell back to formation & Soumaya felt the ink dry on her parchment. She had already packed most of her belongings away, the roll of papers would be the last to keep.   
She was about to shepherd Lawrence back to the army's ranks when something caught her eye on the horizon: a lone horseman. Horse _men_. A platoon of-- _Uh-oh.  
  
_Soumaya gripped the reins hard & had already turned. She was about to kick Lawrence's sides when she looked over her shoulder. More & more Saracen soldiers began to arrive. Jerusalem's army continued to march on, not noticing the growing threat behind them. Soumaya faced the battlefield, her first thought on Lawrence being fast enough-- she could warn them in time.   
But another voice surfaced: _Stay... stay objective. Haven't you watched Saracen men lose their heads just now? Why should Jerusalem be any different just because you've been housed & fed in their foreign land?_ _It is war. And you are no soldier. You are a chronicler. Stay._  
  
Soumaya froze. Not only did she know Tiberias & Baldwin were there, but Dr. Syed, too. And everybody else. She held their stories in ink on paper, she shared meals with the court & the army. She might as well be a native of Jerusalem at this point. Her heart grew heavy as tears started to form in her eyes.  
She thought of them all & everything they've been through. Yet she could still feel her hands uncap the ink bottle. She unfurled the parchment rolls. And she dipped her quill in ink.  
  


* * *

  
An infantryman looked behind him & yelled something in Latin. Before he was skewered through the gut with a pike. Not so unlike Soumaya's pen, dragging against the vellum in shaky, inky lines.   
  
_The Saracen army crashed through like an unrelenting wave against a ship's hull. They tore through the rear flanks & like the ocean, they swallowed men alive. Stampeding forward with lances down, their piercing charge was indiscriminate.  
The Muslims on heavy horse brandished their scimitars to the sky before slashing crusaders like sheaves of wheat, making them bow. The attack, akin to a slaver whipping his peon's back.  
  
_The Christian leadership brought to full attention, commanded a full turn. Their horsemen charged into the fray, attempting any semblance of a counter attack--  
  
Soumaya's eyes widened. She dropped her quill & leaned forward in her saddle.The feather, dipped in ink, began to cast the pigment all over the page. More ink poured over as Soumaya's robes & waist knocked over a well.   
With his patterned face plate glinting in the sun & a flurry of dust about his crippled form, he struggled to get to his feet. King Baldwin IV Of Jerusalem had been knocked off his horse. The animal ran away, cutting a path across the skirmish.  
  
"HYAH!" Soumaya kicked Lawrence to full gallop as he reared on his hind legs. More ink spilled on to her as she cast her lap board away & totally discarded the parasol. She beat Lawrence to go faster & faster & faster.  
She was within skirmish's reach, earning double takes from both sides. Those distracted long enough succumbed to an end by their foe's blow.   
  
Soumaya made a beeline for the king, leaning low by her camel's side-- as low as she could, one hand outstretched. She was approaching him & she could see the whites of his widened, scarred eyes. He held out his gloved hand, panting closely to the ground.  
But before the two teens' hands could touch, Soumaya was yanked off her camel. Lawrence reared back on his hind legs as he approached Baldwin without his pilot. The king shielded his face with his arms as he shut his eyes before the animal galloped away. His mistress scrambled to her legs & ripped off her scarf & turban, whose excesses had been grabbed by a Saracen warrior. She panicked, screaming as hands were soon upon her, clutching her clothes & grabbing her hair. She shed her hooded cloak & flipped open her pen knife. She slashed & stabbed wildly at any arm that came for her, baptizing her measly blade in Muslim blood as she broke free & sprinted for Baldwin's grounded form. His labored breathing, loud & clear as she kept him behind her. His arms grasped for hers as she looked around frantically. The Saracens looked on, unsure on encroaching them. It was then that the king & the chronicler knew of their new status: prisoner of war.  
  
" _What are you doing here,_ " Baldwin shakily exhaled in Greek. " _You promised you wouldn't come close to the battlefield. Did you lie to your king or is recklessness something you'll never grow out of?_ "  
" _Your majesty, with all due respect,_ " Soumaya tried to steady the shaking hand that held the knife. " _Save your breath for negotiations!_ Sil vous plait... _**Assuming** they will have us._"  
" _You **dare** command the king--_"  
" _To save his life? Maybe. Can we discuss this later?! I just saw people I knew get torn apart for professionalism's sake... I... I don't know how to process this, alright?_ "  
" _Did... did you see them... **APPROACH?!**_ " Baldwin went silent. Soumaya, eyes still frantic, helped him up, having him hold onto her.  
  
A horse-mounted figure approached the circle. All eyes cast a gaze on him in reverence. He was tall, with deep lines on his face & prominent cheekbones. Wavy, black hair from his turban reached his shoulders: the same length as his frizzy beard. His temples had begun to grey. But he wore nothing but black.  
Soumaya stood in front of Baldwin, trying not to shrink, trying not to shake as she held the pen knife at chest level.  
" _Please,_ " she managed in Arabic. " _Don't. Hurt. Him._ " He took one look at her & continued walking. Like parting a curtain, his left hand touched her shoulder & moved her aside. He raised his right hand.  
" _As-Salaam-Alaikum._ "  
" _Wa-Alaikum-Salaam,_ " King Baldwin, under heavy breathing, managed to greet his worthy adversary.  
"You look worse for wear since we met last."  
"I wish I could say the same for you," Baldwin chuckled. "And this battle--" he grunted, nearly collapsing to the ground again. Soumaya caught him as he put a knee under himself.  
The sultan yelled a command in Arabic. Two physicians manifested with a litter & shepherded the young leper onto it. They began to march back to the tent they came from.  
"Shall we discuss the terms of your surrender over a chalice of water?" Saladin walked beside him.  
"Surrender already? I'd like to think we be owed ransom first," Baldwin's coy eye-smiles made the sultan smirk. "But, yes. Yes. Some water would be lovely," Baldwin reached out to Soumaya on the other side. Some Muslim soldiers were about to stop their contact til Baldwin commanded them to stop & in effect, Saladin.  
" _Stop... stop._ She's with me." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a fictionalization of the Battle of Marj Ayyun: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Marj_Ayyun. I took liberties with the battle. This story ain't accurate.


	7. Sleeping With The Enemy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Abuse

Baldwin marched into his abode, steaming with fury. He & Soumaya had just returned to Jerusalem, their ransoms paid in full. _How **dare** she. _Immediately, he had her summoned to his bedchambers.  
  


* * *

  
"You rang?"  
"Never do that to me again," He pointed a finger at her face, "How dare you command me-- I am Jerusalem. I am king."  
"I'm sorry! It was the heat of battle! I didn't know what was going to happen or even _if_ they were gonna give you up for ransom. I couldn't let you just _die_ there--"  
"Haha, yes. But you let the others die, didn't you," Baldwin stepped back, hands on his hips. Soumaya splayed her arms.  
"You think I _wanted_ that?! War happens, death happens but you think I **_wanted_** our men & associates to die?! I _**wanted**_. To remain as objective as possible but you had to go & get yourself de-horsed!"  
"You **_said,_** " his working hand gesticulated as he leaned his head forward, closing the space between them. "You would "under **no** circumstance," come near the battle. Which one is it, Soumaya: were you lying or are you never going to **_grow up?!_** " He hissed.  
"We. Are. Literal. Children! Neither of us are even twenty yet!"  
"Children that cost a couple of thousand dinars out of the treasury. _Each._ Have you any idea what other useful projects that money would be good for?! If you had stayed behind, that would have been one less person ransomed."  
"And one more king dead!"  
"I can hold my own in battle! If I couldn't, I wouldn't be here! YOU'RE THE ONE WITH NO AFFAIR IN WAR!"  
"WHAT **_PLACE_** IN WAR! IS THERE FOR A LEPER?!"  
It all happened in an instant: the words, the hurt, the tears & the regret. Soumaya held the warm redness that began to blossom in her left cheek. Her misty eyes didn't even look at him. Baldwin's anger turned into fear... Then cold realization washed over him: he had not removed the signet ring inside his glove. Because of his sickness, he could not pursue her as she ran out of his room.   
  
Bladwin's eyes fluttered open, blinking the blurriness away. This tent was not sporting Jerusalem's colors. But beside him, on a lower mattress, was Soumaya reading a booklet. He let out a sigh that caught her attention.  
"You're up," she faintly said, resting her head on the daybed's edge. She raised it again in worry, "If it's something I said, I'm--" _She reads me so swiftly now._  
"No, no, no... We've apologized enough to each other in this relationship," he laid his covered hands on hers. "I had such a horrible dream."  
"Do you want to talk about it, _mon roi?_ "  
"Yes, but know this," he sighed. "I hope to never see you cry."  
  
As Soumaya returned her chin to the daybed's edge, Baldwin spun the tale of what his mind had conjured in his sleep.  
"The other parts, I can imagine myself saying. But God... that last line... I don't wish to say dream-me _deserved_ to get slapped but God... I don't ever wanna say something so hurtful-- at least, to you."  
"And I never want to see you hurt, hence our argument at Marj Ayyoun. I rescind what I said. You _did_ grow out of your recklessness."  
"Mm? How so?"  
"When you were " _protecting_ " me from Saladin," he exhaled mirthily. "You pleaded with him. I feel like the past-you would have threatened him outright."  
"You do recall me holding a knife at the sultan, right?" The two laughed.  
"He must have been quaking in his boots."  
"Hm, the great Saladin being afraid of me..."  
Baldwin eyed her up & down. The Saracens must have given her a change of clothes. Her new robes the deepest blue instead of randomly sputtered patterns of blood & ink.  
"What have you been up to?" He sat up, draping an arm on his arched knees.  
"Well..." She sat on the edge of his mattress to meet his gaze. "Imad & I disagree on a great many things," she smirked rolling her eyes.  
"The sultan's secretary?"  
"He thinks women shouldn't _be_ chroniclers.  
"Aaaannnd... I don't even wanna go into how he thinks Christian women should be treated. But I won this off him!" She beamed, fanning the hand-sized tome. "It's poetry by one of his older contemporaries, Omar Khayyam."  
"You " _won_ " it?"  
"In chess!" Baldwin chuckled at this. _Of course, she did._  
"Yeah..." She scrunched her nose. "A man like that ain't gonna give a woman knowledge freely aaaannnddd... hubris is a gift from God that eases our victories."  
"Well, _our_ victories," he smiled with his eyes.  
"Says the guy who just lost a battle!"  
"Well, do forgive me, I did fall off a horse & have leprosy," both teenagers broke into laughter.  
  
"I'll teach you how to write a Rubai if you want."  
"Perhaps when we return."  
"What else, what else-- oh! I helped the sultan with his wife-- well, one of them, anyway."   
"Marital problems?" Baldwin asked, bemused & surprised.  
"No," Soumaya mouthed, shaking her head.  
  
The arrangements were these: Saladin extended his hospitality to Baldwin & had his bed in his tent. There he would sleep & be treated by Dr. Soleim Al-Razi. Baldwin did not agree until Soumaya was given lodging beside him.   
"She's my chronicler but helps take care of me. Would the great Sultan Saladin have his-- and his physicians' honor marred by having the king of Jerusalem die of illness while in his captivity?" The king wouldn't have it any other way. Much to the chagrin of many a Saracen, Saladin permitted her a tick beside Baldwin's daybed.  
  
A couple of nights ago, as Baldwin slept, Soumaya would wake in & out of sleep, hearing creaking, shuffling & crunching. Behind her eyelids, she could see some light. She turned & peeped an eye open to where the sultan slept.   
Saladin would toss & turn then try to write at his desk. After reading what he wrote, he would always end up holding or shaking his head then crumpling the parchment. He would return to his bed, sleepless still. Until he attempted to write again. Two nights in a row, she witnessed his restlessness. On the third, she worked up the courage to ask.  
  
As the sultan's hand clasped over his eyes in exasperation, Soumaya sat up & cleared her throat. He tiredly turned his head to her direction.  
"If I may ask, _sahib:_ what troubles you so?" His gaze returned to the scratched out Arabic.  
"For almost a week, I've been trying to write my wife. I've done it many times before but even _I_ feel the paper & ink lack the warmth I wish to convey. She knows the stakes, the numbers. All my victories & failures, she is here for. She knows I love her. However..."  
"May I?" Soumaya rose, wrapping the sheets around her person. She stood opposite of Saladin as he slid her the scratch paper & handed her the quill, handle first. "Describe her to me."  
  
The Saracen king tossed his head back, crossing his arms.   
"She has lustrous, long, dark hair with dark eyes. And skin like mine. Her beauty is complimented only by her intelligence... and bravery.   
"She too, can hold her own in the ring of politics," Soumaya jot down the description as Saladin recalled how they met. "She used to be my predecessor's wife, you know," Soumaya stopped for a second & looked up, deadpan. _O...kay.  
_ "Duly noted," she cleared her throat.  
"Ismat. Her name is Ismat. Ismat. Ad-Din. Khatun," he dictated, finger tapping on each name. "By Allah, I miss her. Imad would chastise me since I write her everyday or try to," he rested his temple on his fist.  
"You said something about politics? Any children, if I may ask?" Soumaya continued to frenziedly write.  
"No offspring between me & her nor her & Nur ad-Din.  
"However, years ago, she had Baldwin's father halt a siege by negotiating a settlement & freeing Christian captives--"  
"Done," She handed the scratch paper written in Arabic.  
  
 _You shame the sun with the shine of your hair,_  
 _It's luster bright enough to blind angels, cursing them to fall_  
 _Why would I ever need to see the night if stars shine in your eyes:_  
 _The insight into your brilliant mind_  
 _Crusaders dream they could topple your fortitude_  
 _Yours is the bravery that tears the pride of kings asunder_  
 _Oh my dearest,_  
 _I am sure Allah exists for there is beauty in the world_  
 _I know beauty exists for I see beauty in you,_  
 _My wife_  
 _The steadfast company of my men bring me victory_  
 _And I long to to step foot in Jerusalem_  
 _But that longing does not compare for the kind I have for you_  
  
Soumaya held her breath as she watched Saladin's eyes scan the page. She gulped hard.   
The sultan lowered the page & stared her down.  
"I will give you thirty dinars for it." _Wait, what. That wasn't what I was g--  
_ "How bout taking it for free & setting the king & I free?" The sultan laughed at this, making the sleeping Baldwin stir.  
"Fifty dinars! Take it or leave it." _Ugh,_ **fine!  
** "Sold," she shook his hand.  
"Good. Now grab that stool over there & help me with my other sentiments," Saladin opened a trunk & fished out a stack of papers, scrolls & codexes. He dropped the paraphernalia before a speechless Soumaya & grabbed his own quill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WqVqjeuDtfU Squick warning at: 1:13-3:27. Jesus, Imad. Dial dafuq back up!  
> Also: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r6Bc69iUUh4


	8. Take It From An Old Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soumaya had traded lives for her craft but discarded it when it came to Baldwin. Would he do the same for her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the title wasn't as significant, I woulda changed it to "Love In The Time Of Corona." Well, leprosy. Whatever. No I haven't read it... yet.

Dr. Soleim Al-Razi dabbed the king's arm with a medicinal poultice before continuing to coil it with gauze. The Saracens too, gave Baldwin a change of robes. As always, the masked stayed on. It was a new day, the fourth or fifth in being a prisoner of war. In all fairness, he was being treated well. Half he owed to his title & reputation. The other half he owed to his gracious adversary who sat with him in the physician's tent. Saladin leaned forward in his seat as Dr. Soleim changed Baldwin's dressing. Soumaya lay untouched as she slept in inside Saladin's tent, being Baldwin's charge. The kings decided not to wake her for breakfast.  
"Soumaya told me she helped with your correspondence," Baldwin's voice emanated from the embossed mask.  
"Corresponden ** _ces._** She has a talent for it. I paid her a sufficient commission.  
"Shall we discuss your ransom?"  
"Neither Count Tiberias nor the members of my court are present. Discussing terms right now would be inappropriate, if not pointless."  
"I don't need your men. Only you. Why is that not enough?"  
"The treasury is in their hands now. They will decide & make you an offer."  
"How's this for an offer: a king should not hold another king prisoner. I set you free. The girl stays & you ransom her. We shall send you back on a horse."  
"No."  
"" _No?_ " You would choose one woman over all of Jerusalem?"  
"I _am_ Jerusalem: her protector & he who upholds justice for those who reside within her walls. I am not choosing between Soumaya or Jerusalem-- I am choosing what's right. And I cannot protect her if I'm not here with her."  
"She will be taken care of here. No harm will come to her, I swear it," Saladin raised his right hand. "Do you doubt my word?"  
"Never. I trust your honor, sultan. But trust me when I say I will not leave my biographer behind. Yours is a promise I can keep in confidence but I cannot trust every single man in your encampment. I am compelled to stay by her side as her king."  
""Compelled,"" Saladin scoffed. "Are you her king? She is Byzantine."  
"And still, she is my charge. She works within the palace, she is under my protection."  
"Duty & honor," the sultan laid back. "These & more are expected of us. However, when you look at Soumaya, is the duty to protect her the only thing you feel when you look at her?"  
"I don't understand," Baldwin's eyes blinked wide for a moment. And so, did his voice falter.   
Saladin raised his eyes to the physician. Soleim nodded & finished bandaging the royal leper. He then exited the tent, leaving the two noblemen alone. Baldwin rolled his sleeve down as he regarded his rival with his eyes. The sultan bore his weight onto his lap, fingertips pressed together.  
"There is something about her... nonjudgmental nature. She nurtures... Even with Imad, there are times I feel he would judge a plan before its inception."  
"Yes, but that's just court."  
"There are moments in a monarch's life-- monarchs like us where we _need_ courtiers... But so many more when we just need companions. If I could have Ismat here with me, I would."  
"Why are you telling me this?"  
"You are dying. But you have always been a worthy enemy," Saladin held out his hand which the young king shook. "Word to the wise, young man: if you do not take your chance before you regret it," he leaned in closer by Baldwin's ear. "I will convert you both & marry you on the spot!" Baldwin pulled back abruptly, still holding his nemesis' hand.  
"Sultan, I think you're overstepping certain boundaries here," said the boy, wide-eyed as he let go of Saladin's hand.  
"Eh," the Saracen king shrugged. "Like we haven't done that before."   
The two shared a second in silent agreement.  
  
"Fifteen minutes. Alone in my tent," Saladin stood & laid a hand on Baldwin's shoulder. "Say what you need to say."  
  


* * *

  
Soumaya's fingers burned as she fervidly inscribed her heart out.   
  
She had woken up alone in Saladin's tent & peeked outside. It was mid-morning. In the distance against the high sun, she could see the silhouette of the two kings in the medic's tent. She had all the desk & papers to herself. Realizing she had to redo her writing, she set to work.   
She had tried & failed to recapture the raw quality of her previous writing. All the numbness & shock & clarity of the moments before had all but died down.  
But then she tried to recollect the sight when Baldwin fell off of his horse...  
  
_... My heart had stopped beating. In that instant, all my blood froze in my veins as I feared him getting trampled. My only solace would have been that the leprosy would have kept him from feeling any pain. It's as if the world stood still as my breath caught in my lungs.  
The next thing I knew or heard was the sound of Lawrence's hoofbeats & that the battle seemed to pull me into it.  
  
There, I could see his majesty in the dirt, struggling with all his might to get up. The whites & blues of his uniform were tarnished with the grime of battle. I could see the iciness of his stare widen with worry as I came closer. I reached out my hand to him &\--  
  
_The sound of tent flaps made Soumaya halt mid-sentence. Her head snapped to the Leper King's direction. She stood to face him.  
"Saladin made an offer," he walked to the table, laying both palms down. "He said he'd let me go & ransom you later."  
"You should take it," she tried to see his lowered face.   
"And leave you defenseless here? On my honor, I cannot," he shook his head.  
"I'll be alright. I trust Saladin & don't fear death, remember? Jerusalem needs her king."  
"But I fear losing you."  
"What," Soumaya took one step back. _Why..._ Her heart stopped completely as he turned to her.  
"Soumaya," his hand hovered by her cheek, tracing its outline. "I... I... _need_ \--"  
  
"The entourage of Jerusalem has arrived," Imad burst into the tent. The two teenagers snapped their heads at the secretary.  
"Splendid," Baldwin straightened & blandly remarked. Imad shot a questioning look at the two, wondering what was about to transpire. Soumaya only meekly cast her gaze down before the three of them were startled by nearby hoofbeats & whinnying.  
  
"My Lord King Baldwin, we have come to rescue you from the Saracens!" A voice cried outside. _O, great. It's Guy,_ Soumaya closed her eyes, exhaling through her nostrils. _O good, it's Guy De Lasagna,_ Baldwin rolled his eyes, adopting Soumaya's nickname behind closed doors for the noble.  
"Silence, you ninnyhammer! You're disturbing the entire encampment!" Yelled a gruff retort.   
The two youngsters gasped as they looked at each other. "Tiberias!" They exclaimed in unison.   
  


* * *

  
All things considered, negotiations went smoother than anticipated. Both Jerusalem & Saracen camps had a back & forth discussing the ransom before settling on a collective couple thousands of dinars. Baldwin decided to visit Dr. Soleim one last time for medicines to pack. As the others went ahead, all was well until departure.   
"Where's my camel?" Soumaya asked while being led to the horses.  
"We cut him up & made jerky of his meat," Guy replied, matter-of-factly as Soumaya & Tiberias glared daggers at him. "Oh cheer up, will you?" He stared back. "We couldn't get the stubborn thing out of the stables without his mistress. Besides, we found a suitable steed for you."  
A squire led a short, brutish donkey by the reins. It brayed & resisted, flies buzzing about it. Some of the Saracen warriors & Guy's knights snickered amongst themselves. Soumaya's faced scrunched up in disgust.  
"Do mind the teeth. He likes to nibble."  
"None of us planned this, Soumaya," the count seethed beside the writer. "This is all him."  
"I'd rather march," she declared, nose in the air. "No armor, no chainmail, no voiders."  
"That can be arranged," Guy scoffed, much to his & his men's amusement.  
"My lady you can ride with me if you wish," Tiberias put a hand on her shoulder. She looked upon him kindly before mouthing "I'm okay."  
  
"If his eminence were here, he would have asked "What kind of knight would make a lady walk?"" Behind them trotted Imad on horseback. He brought along with him another stallion of brown fur & a shiny, black mane. He halted the two animals beside the crusaders.  
"An added bonus to your commission, Lady Soumaya," he handed her the reins.  
"He... how..." She petted the glossy sienna fur. She mounted the horse & looked at the secretary with happy, misty eyes. She swallowed. "Tell the sultan I'll pray for him every night... & hope he & Ismat never grow apart," Imad nodded & turned to leave.  
"Wait, wait, wait! Imad!" She grabbed his sleeve. "You forgot something," She reached into her own sleeve & pulled out the pocket book. "I finished it."  
"You won it, you keep it."  
"Honestly? The pride of winning... it's enough," she smirked as he reached out, pulling the text back. "Ah-ah-ah! That," she pointed with the other hand. "And! You include said victory in any of your retellings," she finally let him hold the edge. "Thank you," she let go.  
"May Allah keep you, my sist... I just remembered something."  
"Hm?" Imad beckoned her to come close.  
Saladin' secretary whispered something in her ear. Gradually, Soumaya's emotions went from confused to serious. But the two pulled away with sure understanding in their eyes.  
"I see..."  
"Good luck," and with that, Imad rode off.  
"What was that about?" Guy, still grounded, squinted upwards at her. She raised a finger to her lips.  
"That would be between the kings & I," her lips curled smugly as she rode in front of the men. She raised her right hand. " _As-Salaam-Alaikum!_ "  
" _Wa-Alaikum-Salaam,_ " the majority of Muslims exclaimed around them.  
Tiberias, Guy & the knights accompanying them could only trade speechless, mouth-ajar looks.  
"Look alive, gents!" She looked at the horizon. "King's coming."  
  
Baldwin rode a litter to where the horses were kept. Dr. Al-Razi was at his side. Several knights aided his dismount off of the litter & helped him mount his horse. He clasped the physician's hand one last time in thanks, handing him a gracious tip for his troubles before saying farewell.  
"Shall we ride?"   
And with that, the Jerusalem envoy made a heading for home.  
  


* * *

  
"You know, Guy, you were right about war!" Soumaya yelled into the wind beside the knight.  
"Is that so, _petite fille?_ Do tell me I'm right again. You admitting so lifts my morale like no other."  
"Yes, witnessing it _was_ different from my books & my imagination. But I learned something out there that you don't want to do but I can, apparently."  
"And what, pray tell, may that be, _morveuse?_ "   
"Respect my enemy." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Saladin giving the horse isn't wish fulfilment. From what I've read, I feel he'd do this.   
> -Namesake: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W44snFoSgs4


	9. Eyes Of Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baldwin & Soumaya confront each other.

The envoy rode southward for a day along the coast. Camp was set up before sundown.  
Just like before, Soumaya had a separate tent from the men though she would eat her meals with them.  
  


* * *

  
It was a little while after dinner. Soumaya had retreated to her quarters to review what she had written when in came the king.   
"We need to talk-- what's that you've been working on? Wait. Nevermind. It can wait til after we converse," he walked up to her at her daybed.  
"Slow down, your majesty," Soumaya chided. "I feel it be best we speak either back at the palace. _Or,_ " she looked past him, watching the shadows cast onto her tent. "We go somewhere else with not so many prying ears & eyes," Guy crossed her mind. The two heard a sneeze outside. All around them was the camp's subtle commotion: the sound of soldiers' boots on the ground, the animals & insects settling into the night, the men's idle chatter...  
" _Can any of them understand Greek?_ " Soumaya asked in her mother tongue.  
"I'm unsure. Eitherway. Meet me on the north western edge of camp in an hour & a half," in a hushed tone, he pointed his bandaged hand at her. "If anybody accosts you, say you're going for a midnight ride & will be back in twelve minutes or so."  
"Agreed," she nodded before he took his leave.   
  
Already, Soumaya stripped her jewellery-- anything that jangled that could give away her position. Or worse: robbed. She chose a dark blue hooded coat that would blend seamlessly into the nightscape.   
  
When the time came, Soumaya peeked out of her tent. Some knights kept watch over a campfire while one or two patrolled about. The young writer snuck under a tent flap opposite of the entrance. She could feel the cool sand around her boots.  
Close to the ground, she made sure to make as little sound as possible. She crept around the perimeter, attempting to stay out of torchlight as much as possible.  
  


* * *

  
She found him watching the night, looking out upon the vast desert. He sat on the ground. Having changed from his white robes, he wore something dark just like her. Fearing the reflective glint would betray their clandestine meeting, he left his mask behind. Instead, he wore something like a niqab layered with scarves around his neck. And like his mask, she could only see his eyes.   
He looked up at her & held out his hand. The two clasped each other's forearms as the king tried to stand. Baldwin grunted & Soumaya caught him when he swayed. Soumaya put his arm over her shoulder as she held his waist.  
"There," he pointed out to a dune underneath the high moon.   
  
The sand held some traction. But it still caused the companions to lean on to one another. He smelled of herbs & medicine that seemed to soothe & caress her system. She remembered their first evening in together, playing chess til dawn & all she could focus on was the warmth of the body beside her. However, his stumbling provided a wake-up call as she too, had to walk to the rhythm of her limping. Every time she'd feel his steps would falter, her clutch around his waist would tighten. Then she'd unwind at her self-reminder not to coddle him.   
  
At long last, they arrived at the hill's apex. The king uncoiled himself from his writer & sat upon the grains. All the torches & firelight were still visible from atop the dune. But they were far enough to be out of any other living soul's earshot & close enough to see the coast of the Mediterranean. She stepped forward & looked out at the sea, a light breeze blowing their clothes.  
"There. Over yonder," she pointed listlessly. "If you go any further up north, you'll reach where I'm from," she lowered her finger, voice so weak & nigh emotionless. "Constantinople may be a little more to the west, your majesty. We can go one day, if you like," her fists lightly curled. "Maybe you can even meet my parents..." She folded her arms, a hand clasped over her mouth. She shook her head.  
"You wanna know what I was working on?" Her trembling voice & sniffling were replied with silence from the king who only watched her back as she looked up. "I... _tried_ recapturing what I had written at Marj Ayyoun & I **failed.** I failed at redoing my own writing-- everything I felt & saw during battle-- _GONE._ "  
Baldwin watched silently behind her as she sobbed & gesticulated. Her lamentations tore at his heart but he decided to listen. She gave a shaky exhale.  
"Then I remembered you, without a horse, in the dirt. And everything came flooding back...  
"I think you may be my muse," she dryly chuckled. "But for how long?" She turned to him at last. Little starlight shone off her damp eyes. She stared at the sand at her feet as she limped towards him & sat beside him. She crossed her arms again, refusing to look at him for a bit.  
"Why did you come for me?" Baldwin finally broke the silence. She tilted her head back & exhaled.  
"I don't know."  
"Right after I swore to never make you cry," a gloved hand reached for her cheek to thumb away her tears.   
"Can we go through at least one week without apologizing to each other?" Soumaya wiped her other eye with the heel of her palm. She looked up, blinking away the rest. "God...what have we gotten ourselves into."  
"Does it feel wrong?"  
"No, & that's the worst part!" She smiled at him but tears threatened to spill some more. "When I'm with you... be it war, be it mundane paperwork, I'm... _happy._ You take my anxieties away yet at the same time, I feel at any moment you're gonna break-- and that's wrong! Because you're stronger than _anybody_ thinks. And I wanna be the last person to pity or baby you!"  
"God couldn't have made a better companion," his bandaged hand tucked a stray strand behind her ear. She smirked at the compliment.  
"God has a cruel sense of humor that He should make our love so short," she stared the camp down. "And yet, He is merciful that we got to meet at all."  
  
"I really wouldn't mind being with you," she looked at him, sympathetically. "You know, physically."   
"Suicide is punishable by an eternity in hell, Soumaya," he dryly chuckled.   
"If God is as merciful as we _think_ He is, He'd understand what I'd have to do to be with one of His best sons... including following him into the afterlife.   
"Baldwin, I'm going to try if you're gonna try. I don't fear death, remember?"  
"But you fear losing me? To death? To sickness? Answer that logic, will you."  
Soumaya thought for a bit.  
"It would suck not trying to be together," she shrugged. "Or never trying at all. Like I said, sometimes something is better than nothing. I don't fear death & you're dying. Leprosy is contagious. What do we have to lose?"  
"Aside from your credibility as an author?"  
"If Princess Anna Comnena can compile her father's story while being both a historian _& _the king's daughter, I can compartmentalize my feelings as well. If anything, they add to the stories we write. Besides, nobody has to know we were ever together."  
  
"It's a shame, though. We can never be public with our affections... we can never share our happiness with our loved ones..."  
"Sibylla."  
"The princess, Prince Badouinet... Baron Godfrey, Marshal Tiberias... and worst of all, we can't tell Chancellor Archbishop Will! And he's the one who brought us together in the first place," the two went quiet for a while.  
"He would chronicle our coupling in a heartbeat, I know."  
"Imagine what the public & court would think... God in heaven above... Best case scenario: I get labelled as some seductress who wants something of you-- land, title, anything. Either that or a whore with a leper fetish. Worst case scenario: They'll think you're desperate & both our legacies get undermined by some dumb scandal that everybody would rather remember over our achievements. Nobody remembers Cleopatra the pharaoh, ruler of Egypt, scion of the Ptolemaic dynasty. They remember Cleopatra, Caesar & Mark Anthony's girlfriend."   
"That's not one hundred percent true," Baldwin earned a cocked eyebrow from his beloved. "Alright, maybe it's _somewhat_ true.  
"It is a pity that our family here cannot know of us--" _Sibylla would lose her head & probably demand mine for this revelation, _Soumaya pondered. "But outside of them, what use have we of witnesses?" Baldwin held her hand. "With secrecy comes freedom that we don't have to perform love on display for the court _or_ the world."  
"Aye," she smiled. No tears left to dry as she leaned on his shoulder. "Just us: no lands, no titles, no heirs--"  
"No regrets?"  
"None whatsoever under Holy God, the moon & the stars," she leaned against him, looking up at the canopy of stars & his blue eyes.  
Baldwin laid a hand on her lap as she reached for the crook of his neck. Her eyes lowered to his veil. But his eyes & hand shot to her wrist before she could lift it.  
"I can't see a lot in this light. Only the darkness shall behold your visage-- unless you want me to as well."  
"How do you know you won't regret this?" Soumaya felt his breath hitch & she paused.  
"I fell in love with a man not for his face or lack thereof. But for his intellect, spirit, bravery & the belief in & strength to uphold a free & equal Jerusalem. I want you, Baldwin. Pauper or prince, I want you," she closed her eyes & Baldwin's conscience prodded him to stop-- to spare her of sickness. Instead a voice stepped forward & pushed his inhibitions miles back. It said, _God has brought her to me & my woman has given her blessing. __I_ ** _deserve_ **_happiness. As much as any of God's creatures. And She is here with me._  
He closed the distance between them & let her wrist go. Her smaller hand found its way to his neck & Baldwin lifted the niqab by its side as he bent over her. Despite everything, their mouths molded seamlessly against each other. Soumaya could feel the graze of his teeth on her lips. Her hand drifted upwards to feel the scars of his cheek. The feeling of his deformed lips on hers egged her on to push further & further until she settled on his lap. Baldwin's arm coiled tightly around her waist. A mewl from her chest caught him offguard as his other hand grasped for the sands. As Soumaya writhed against him, his strength gave way.   
Breaking off with a yelp & a grunt, the couple found themselves on the sand. Eyes still closed, Soumaya giggled as she rose a little.  
"Are you alright?"  
"I am now. You may open your eyes again."  
The king lay with amusement & adoration in his gaze. The niqab was lowered once more. Soumaya took her place beside him. Head on his chest, she could feel their heartbeats' rhythm fall to each other's time. She smiled to herself as his glove found its way on his shoulder, her arm round his waist. They sighed happily & fell into a comfortable silence, watching the heavens above.  
  
"Had we been allowed to marry," Baldwin broke the silence. "I would have chosen chancellor archbishop as a godfather."   
"I would have chosen Saladin," the writer & the king sputtered into laughter after a beat.  
"Ah!" Soumaya rose up, her fist collided with her palm. "That's what Imad said!"  
" _Quoi?_ "  
"Before we left, Imad relayed me one last caveat from Saladin. He whispered, "When the time is right... the horse would be a gift of a different kind.""  
""Different kind?"" Baldwin sat up, propping an elbow on a bent knee. Soumaya nodded.  
"That horse wasn't a commission bonus. It was a--"  
"Wedding present."   
"Man, how obvious are we that even our enemy knows we're in love before we do?"  
"I figure that's just Saladin being Saladin-- he's smart enough to pick up on anything. That, or a man being in love with his wife would know what young love looks like."  
"Well..."  
""Well," what?"  
"Wouldn't it be rude of us to make a liar of the most gracious & hospitable Sultan Of Egypt & Damascus? Wouldn't you say, my love?"   
"What are you insinuating?"  
"What are _you_ insinuating that _I'm_ insinuating?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -This coupling has been brought to you by Crazy Will's Parchment Depot, Sandy Sal's Horse Rodeo & Talky Tib's Scream Emporium Herald Service: where our motto is "SILEEEEEEENCE!!!"  
> -Please tell me there are no scorpions along the Mediterranean coast or else this would be a much shorter love story.  
> -If you come from a certain fandom... & you're about to ask that meme of a question... here's the answer. Yes. Yes, it is.


	10. HEAVEN HELP ME I CANNOT THINK OF A TITLE O CRAP I PLANNED THE STORY THRU BUT NOT THE CHAPTER TITLES

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Changing rating to M for... reasons.  
> -Alternative title: "Pop The Question." THE ORIGINAL TITLE STAYS I AIN'T CHANGIN IT LIKE A COWARD.

Sibylla watched eagerly from the veranda as the royal entourage arrived. As the envoy rode past the gates, the princess ran out to greet them. Guy dismounted first & opened his arms to greet his wife.  
"Ah, Sibylla," he closed his eyes in smug relief. Only to feel a burst of air & dust run past him. Sibylla tightly embraced her brother as soon as his feet touched the ground. Soumaya stifled her snort with the heel of her fist before dismounting herself.  
"Woman," Guy pointed upwards, not daring to look at her. "Not a word."  
  
"Soumaya."  
"Princess," the two women hugged each other.  
"They didn't hurt either of you, did they?" The noblewoman held the scribe's face, spotting her this way & that.  
"No, no," Soumaya gently held Sibylla's wrists. "The sultan was a gentleman & your brother took care of me."  
"Shouldn't it be the other way around?" The princess grinned.  
"Maya..." A little voice squeaked behind the princess. Sibylla's handmaid waddled over with the royal toddler in tow.  
" _Bonjour, moi petite prince!_ " Soumaya crouched with outstretched arms, beaming at the child.  
"We're still working on names & pronunciations," Sibylla smiled sweetly as Soumaya picked up Badouinet.  
"I wouldn't mind being called Maya, though," she dangled her bangles in front of the boy once more.  
  
"If you ladies will excuse me," King Baldwin started. "I must attend to Dr. Sayed. He must be dreadfully sick without my care," the sovereign excused himself while his sister & scribe traded snickers. "Lady Soumaya," he stopped & turned for a second.  
"Mm?"  
"No work for the rest of the day," he continued on his path.  
"A-MEN," Soumaya rolled her eyes in relief. She turned to Sibylla. "I'll love writing til the day I die. But damn, I need a break."   
  


* * *

  
King Baldwin IV Of Jerusalem had been mulling over this idea ever since his now-paramour swooped into battle in an attempt to rescue him. He scooped more bathwater into his wounded hands & doused himself, not feeling the droplets cascade down his tattered body. Usually, an attendant or two would help with dressing him. But today, he dismissed them, wanting to be alone with his thoughts. He sat by the bath's end, closer to the curve of the colonnade where curtains hung overhead, spilling into the pool. They were translucent enough to cast a silhouette. But opaque enough not to show whose shadow it belonged to.  
Baldwin sunk into the tepid depths, nose deep. His scattered blonde strands floated about his ragged cheeks, mingling with the edges of his eyelashes. He could fall asleep if he'd allow himself to. But his eyes shot open at the sound of humming. Feminine humming. The king froze in an attempt to be soundless. _Oh... God... **why**...  
  
_

* * *

  
Soumaya didn't expect to schedule a bath post-lunch. But after arriving from the desert, she deemed it necessary. Sure the coast was clear, she allowed herself to hum while laying down her basket of perfumed oils & personal soap.  
  


* * *

  
Baldwin still couldn't place who was humming. Memory proved unhelpful in recalling whether or not his sister so much as whistled nor did he ever notice his beloved hum anything nor hear any servant woman sing their songs. The Leper King couldn't decide what was more awkward: being seen bare, seeing someone else bare or trying to save either party from such embarrassment! **And** being a self-conscious leper caught in the mix! Right now, Baldwin didn't feel like the hero of Montgisard, survivor of Marj Ayyoun, King Of Jerusalem. He felt like a hapless teenager who's never seen a naked woman before nor did he want to be seen. _God... if it's something that I did... I swear..._  
  


* * *

  
Knowing she was alone, Soumaya let go of her bathrobe's open hem. She reached for the still-wrapped soap bar & undid the paper. As she opened the last fold, the block rolled off her hand.  
"Tch! Really? God damn it," she grunted bending over.  
  
It was at that moment Baldwin knew he could move & clear his throat.  
"Soumaya?"  
"Eep!" The biographer yelped out of her flesh as she clasped the robe's seam together, catching the bar of soap that bounced several times in the air between her hands before she firmly grasped it.  
"Is that you?"  
"Baldwin?" Her eyes searched the source of his voice. "You scared the everliving daylights outta me! I'll go if you're not yet done," she turned to collect her things.  
"No, no. I'm not yet done. But you may stay. Can you see me? I'm behind the curtain."  
"Just like lunch but in reverse!" She let out a dry laugh. "I won't look if you don't want me to," Soumaya watched the ripples in the pool.  
"I'm almost done."  
"Right."  
  
Soumaya could hear dripping water. When Baldwin peeked past the curtain, there he saw his lady love, facing the pool, sitting crosslegged on a bench while clutching her robe tightly, face scrunched & eyes shut. The Leper King couldn't help but smile to himself at how cute she looked, dark hair tied into a topknot. With each other, she always wore a turban like Sibylla.  
  
Soumaya could hear wet, bare feet slap onto the tiled floor at a slow pace. Next thing she knew, fingers ghosted by her jaw as she felt a peck on her cheek. She hummed contentedly as the sensation went away & Baldwin's footsteps sounded farther. She could hear the unfurling of fabric & even farther footsteps.  
"Done," his voice called from away. "You may open your eyes now."  
  
Soumaya's sight was greeted with an empty space. The water had stilled with no king in sight. She could have heard a pin drop in the silence. However, Soumaya's eyes trailed to the mosaic flooring. Watery footprints lead to the vestibule opening. And she didn't hear him exit.  
Soumaya simply clicked her tongue, got up & let go of her robe, making sure her back faced the entrance. She let the robe slide down her shoulders, down to the ground before slowly dipping into the warm bathwater & she herself took place behind the curtains.  
  


* * *

  
It was comparable to his first battle, his first time sparring, fighting-- only then did his heart beat so fast. Only then... and now.   
Before the worst of leprosy affected him, Baldwin felt the summers of Jerusalem, how the sun seemed to bake everything under heaven. What he just witnessed-- it brought back the sensation of those summers from within. Gazing upon her naked olive skin, he felt his knees would give way that second. And they almost did before she called out.  
"Oh, your majesty! You mind helping me with my back?"  
  


* * *

  
Baldwin peeked past the corner of the damp cloth. Chest deep in water, Soumaya held out her soap, eyes completely closed.  
"You there, my love?"  
"Y-yes... I am here," Baldwin nearly clutched his mouth. Never once did he hear himself stutter up to now. Soumaya lifted a brow, amused face turned to frown in a snap.  
"Are you alright? If you don't feel comfortable, we can sto--"  
"Give me that damn soap," he snatched the bar off her open palm, going behind her as he began to work a lather on her shoulders. Soumaya's expression returned to contentment. She could feel the ripples between them bounce off her back & around her chest. She sighed happily but it took everything of Baldwin to will his limbs to stop shaking. But as soon as Soumaya felt his tremors, she turned to him, eyes remaining shut.   
"I'm serious, Baldwin. If this uneases you so, my king, we can--"   
"Open your eyes."  
"What?"  
"Open. Your. Eyes," Baldwin was done with being afraid.  
  
Lady Soumaya Of Byzantium did as she was told. And King Baldwin IV Of Jerusalem braced for heartbreak. He watched as her brow wrinkled, how her worried stare drank in all the sores & bruises & discoloration. Her dark irises darted to & fro from one blemished spot to the next. King Baldwin willed his gaze to stay on hers & not look sorrowfully down at the pool between them. Her eyes soon rested on his as both hands reached for his face. He awaited rejection. But all she said was,  
"Blonde!" She exclaimed gleefully at the gobsmacked monarch. Her fingers tangled themselves in his tresses. "Aw, Baldwin. You're blonde. Funny that. I always figured you for a ginger!"  
"I... don't understand," his hands firmly grasped her wrists.   
"I know right? Nowhere in Sibylla or Badouinet do I see a hint of red hair, right? Maybe it was just a weird gut feeling that just got proven wrong," she shrugged with a lopsided smile as he let go. Baldwin looked on in concern as she laid a hand on his shoulder. "Come now, my darling. What did you expect? I run out of the bath, shrieking?" She gesticulated, rotating her other wrist. "What kind of shallow floozy you take me for, pal?" She pressed her forehead against his. "Now you gonna get my back or nah?" She turned around & dove for the soap Baldwin had dropped. Soumaya resurfaced & plopped the block onto the king's hand.  
  
Baldwin continued to massage her shoulders & neck, half-believing his circumstance.  
"I half-feel this is another dream."  
"I'd pinch you but you wouldn't feel a thing."  
"And neither would you in a couple years' time. Soumaya... I'm going to kill you... Leprosy. Will kill you."  
"Well, we can bemoan our grievances in heaven. Till then you can't chastise me over something I don't regret."   
"Yet.  
"And should we even be doing this? We're not even married yet."  
"Doing what? Nothing's happening: just two, romantically involved people, alone, together, mutually naked in a bath, washing each other's back. As you do...  
"And what's with the "yet?" Again, with the "yet." There's a "yet?""  
"Honestly, I don't know. We kind of left that conversation open ended in the desert. It must be buried miles deep beneath the sands now..."  
  
"Have you named him yet? The horse?"   
"Shahanshah."  
"Oh? "King of kings?""  
"Well, he was gifted by a king. To me. For being in love with another king. So... kinda fitting, I'd say..."  
  
The conversation lulled into silence for a few moments. Baldwin cupped water in his palms & released it over Soumaya's back.  
"Your majesty," she started. "If you don't like us bathing together, I could just do it alone. In the lake. Bare-arsed for all the world to see except for you!" She laughed.  
"Crazy woman!"  
"Like a fox!" She turned to face him, wrapping her arms around his neck.  
"Soumaya! I'll lose my balance!"  
"Tell me what sounds more memorable: being some king's scribe or some woman publicly bathing in the Holy Land, not giving a rat's arse about anything?"  
"You're insane!"  
"That's derivative of what you called me that night-- the night we met."  
"Deranged?"  
"No... "Brazen,"" And with that Soumaya kissed her king as he gripped the pool's edge, other hand on the small of her back.  
  
The couple immediately withdrew as they heard the approaching conversation of three men. Soumaya got up first then fished her lover out of the water. She towelled & robed him first before caring of her own modesty. She grabbed her toiletries & ushered themselves out of the bath. The young lovers hushed each other as soon as they recognized the voices. But Soumaya only recognized the two of them.  
  


* * *

  
"..."Polite court," my left foot! In true " _polite_ " functions, there should be no room for the pompous-- Guy, especially!"  
From behind the entrance, Baldwin & Soumaya looked at each other. "Tiberias," they mouthed together in unison.  
"At least, that's all you have to deal with & not the likes of Reynald de Chatillon terrorizing the pilgrim road," the baron of Ibelin's voice replied.  
"Another headache that's gotten on my nerves. More raids means more reimbursements for disgruntled travellers... among _other_ issues."  
  
Godfrey plunged into the water, not bothering with stripping off the towel around his waist.  
"Aaaahhh... I swear my age must be catching on to me," the old soldier seethed over his body's aches.   
"It could just be your testicle injury acting up, my lord," the third voice interjected.  
"Good God, man. What happened out there?"  
"I took an arrow to the balls, Tiberias. That's what happened."  
  
Baldwin put a finger to his lips then pointed to the actual exit. Soumaya had her beloved lean onto her as they escaped the baths.  
  


* * *

  
Lady Soumaya fell backwards first into Baldwin's bed with a sigh, now dressed in her usual clothes, save for a headwrap. Her still-damp hair splayed onto the sheets. At the opposite edge sat her mate, clenching & unclenching his freshly bandaged hand before sheathing it with a glove.  
Soumaya had helped him dress, learning the sequence of ointments & antiseptics before bandaging & clothing him, before donning the keffiyeh & lastly, the mask.   
  
"Who were they talking about back there?" She propped her head onto her hand.   
"Reynald de Chatillon," he turned to her once. "Master of Kerak Castle. He's been stirring up trouble as of late. Especially upon the pilgrim path which is the baron of Ibelin's charge--" The king took a double take at her. In an instant, she had gone from his bed to her bureau, holding her notebook & a freshly dipped quill.  
"What? I still have a job to do."  
"That brings me to another thing I've considered, Soumaya," he stood & held her by the shoulders.  
"Yes, my love?" She looked up at the king who towered over her by a healthy amount of inches.  
"Speaking of Baron Godfrey, there's something I've been considering ever since Marj Ayyoun." 


	11. Blank Slate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soumaya takes up Baldwin on his offer.

Lawrence Of Mediterranea trudged forth, his new companion, Shahanshah in tow. Their mistress sat atop the camel, following the knights in front of her. She did not look over her shoulder at the gates of Jerusalem growing smaller & smaller in the distance with each of her camel's hoofsteps. She thought back to their after-bath conversation from days ago.  
  
"When did Will discover it? At nine years?"  
"Nine years of age. Yes."  
"And when did you start wearing a mask?"  
"I almost can't recall it now. Maybe late '77... or early the year after. I was already numb since childhood. But the worst physical aspects didn't show until some time after Montgisard."   
"So... Let's round it off at twenty. Twenty? Twenty years left of my life to live."  
"You could have had more."  
"I have no use for years without you by my side."  
"And every moment is precious," he squeezed her hand in his. "But this is crucial... Lest our years together be even shorter."  
  
Soumaya's mind trailed off. Her beloved had a proposition to which she agreed. He had already written to their former tutor the details of what he'd cover, splitting her living costs for a month & a half. Besides, the experience could add to her manuscript.  
  
If she'd squint, she could already see Baron Godfrey in the distance.  
  


* * *

  
Soumaya began to unpack her belongings. It will be dinner soon. She decided to wash up & change before then. Out of her luggage, she fished a fine silk sash. Purple: the color of her home & her royals. She decided on her turban for the night.   
  
Only a while ago, she had been greeted by the estate's master.  
"Ah, Mademoiselle Soumaya," he pecked her hand.  
"Baron."   
The good baron was out of his armor & in more casual garb: tunic & trousers. The housekeeper ushered them in while managing the servants to take her luggage & the knights' livestock. Soumaya took Godfrey's offered arm & went out to the veranda where beverages were waiting for them. The girl looked out onto the dusty landscape before her. Dusty. But not barren.  
"All yours?"  
"All one thousand acres," he drank from his cup. "Tomorrow you shall jog it," a goat bleated in the distance. "Ten laps."  
"The entire fief?" Soumaya asked wide-eyed.   
"Don't be silly. Just the perimeter of the castle. You can get around the entire fief within the month & a half," he drank again.  
Servants came through the entrance with her trunks & belongings. They marched up a wooden staircase wedged among the brick & mortar interior. Soumaya's eyes followed them as Godfrey continued.  
"You shall take residence on the second floor. If you need anything, just ask for Latif. Training starts at first light. But for now, we dine."   
  
As Soumaya continued to dress, she looked through the latticework of her room's window. The view overlooked the city of Jerusalem. In her mind, she pictured her beloved, staring back at her from the castle. If not at his desk or by his bookshelf. If not by Dr. Sayed's side, being medicated & bandaged for the nth time.  
  
Eyes re-kholed, cummerbund knotted & hair totally hidden, it was as if she had never left the palace. She reckoned she was ready to face her host.  
  


* * *

  
Already, she felt eyes on her & she hadn't even set foot on the first landing. The knights stood up from the veranda floor as she approached. She didn't hide her limp nor did she falter. But the last time she felt so intently watched was when Sibylla had warned her in the desert, many, many moons ago. Unlike the courtiers' gaze who seemed initially dismissive or harmless that she had deemed negligible, unlike Baldwin's attention that soothed her, unlike Tiberias & Saladin's authoritative company that commanded both respect & ease, these men's perceived scrutiny felt so... tangible. As they eyed her descent, something innate in Soumaya told her that she ought to earn their approval. By hell or high water.  
  
Including Godfrey, there were about seven of them. After the baron introduced her, they all sat down. Soumaya committed their name & likeness as best as she could to memory. Odo came from north of the Rhine, Firuz came from south of Sudan; The bald & clean shaven Almaric was partnered in travel & combat with the redheaded, moustached Ruben; Youngest of the lot was Godfrey's squire, Raymond; And lastly, was the Hospitaller, Brother Heinrich-- whose voice Soumaya recognized from the bath: a fact she kept to herself for obvious reasons.   
  
"To who do we owe the pleasure of dining with a lady?" Odo picked into his chicken right after introduction.  
"The king. And to a lesser extent, Chancellor Archbishop," Godfrey answered. "King Baldwin wants her chronicling the life of knights."  
"Thoughtful of him to think our stories worth remembering," Firuz gave a half-hearted scoff.  
"She will write while we train her," Godfrey finished.  
A hush fell around & Soumaya looked up for the first time since she started digging in.   
""Train her?" My lord?" Raymond cleared his throat as all dining paused.  
"In what, exactly?" Heinrich turned to his lord.  
"Survival. Basic combat."   
Ruben took one look at Soumaya.  
"With all due respect, my lady, can you hold a sword aloft?"  
"I brandished a pen knife at Saladin, if that counts for something," she unenthusiastically shrugged.  
The squire put his chicken bone down on his platter.  
"Hang on a second, Lady Soumaya. Were you at--"  
"Marj Ayyoun?" Soumaya chomped on her piece, then unceremoniously chewed & gulped. "Listen, fellas. I'm gonna level with you. I'm no warrior nor will I ever be. I set out for the Holy Land to be his highness' biographer. I don't kill & I don't fight--"  
"That's no longer yours to decide anymore," Godfrey caught her. "The king commands it & so shall it be. We can't turn you into a knight so don't expect training will be all that difficult. Relax. That goes for all of you. We're not expected to make a soldier of a woman, we'll just teach her how to take care of herself. And if the need arose, his majesty."  
""We," you say," a bemused Hospitaller quoted. Everybody resumed to eat.   
"Yes, Heinrich. "We.""  
"Very brave to go saving the king like that," Almaric commended, not even looking at the girl. She smiled wanly at her food.  
"But foolish to do it unarmed," Odo chewed.  
"I told you, I had a pen knife," she added.  
"All things considered," Brother Heinrich continued. "If King Baldwin deems her worthy of this opportunity, who are we to deny or protest his request?"  
"There are moments where I feel his majesty is too kind to a fault but... I wanna be the last person to rebuke his judgement...Despite my own reservations," she scanned the crowd before continuing to eat.  
  
Dinner passed by without incident. At its conclusion, the soldiers bid their farewells & good nights to Lady Soumaya. Baron Godfrey even chaperoned her to her quarters, again by his gentleman's arm.   
But alone in her room, she couldn't help but let out a lonely sigh. She pulled off her turban, unmussing her hair. Amidst the cordial surface, dinner had been awkward-- the consequence of aging where brashness was no longer excusable. Not only that, but how could she relate to these men? _One battle does not a soldier make. I didn't even fight, I just..._ She knew nothing of them yet when she was in Baldwin's company for the first time, she already knew of him from the stories & Will's chronicle. Then they bonded over a mutual love of history. He was the perfect combination of warmonger & bookworm. _Oh, Baldwin._  
She pulled out her notebook & began to write.  
  
 _The sands are my clothing_  
 _And the whinnying of horses, my symphony_  
  
 _I know not how to feel_  
 _For my heart & mind are with--_  
  
A knock on her door made her stop, mid-couplet.  
"Oh, Brother Heinrich. Right? Good evening."  
"Peace, Lady Soumaya," he brandished a small tray with a cup. Soumaya took it. It was warm to the touch. "Milk, honey, some almonds for the night's rest," she inhaled its steam. "Good for the nerves as well. May I?"   
"Sure," she offered him a stool & closed the door.  
"If I may, I've been meaning to ask about your leg."  
"It bothers me none," she paused her sipping. A milk moustache formed on her upper lip. Heinrich was about to point it out until she caught herself in the mirror.  
"Oh my, I didn't mean to steal your look. Is it any good on me?"  
"You look very dashing, madam."  
"Yes, I feel Marshal Tiberias might like it, too. I know the king has facial hair engravings on his mask.  
"Anyway, you were asking about my--"  
Another rapping came upon the wooden door. Soumaya opened it to Raymond clutching an orchid branch but he held his mouth at the sight of her.  
"For me?" He nodded. "Yeah, I know. Moustache. Get in," she shut the door.   
"Oh hey, Brother Heinrich!"  
"Let me guess, you were going to ask about her leg."  
"You noticed, too? But no, I was going to give her this. Everything felt off at dinner. So I--"  
Another tap before the writer could even speak, waiting for the two men to finish. Soumaya opened the door to Odo who took one confused look at her moustache & he forgot his piece. In his large hands, he held a thick ivory hairpin spooled with leather ribbons. Without a word, she ushered him in as he was greeted by his compatriots.  
"What's all this then?" He handed her the spool.  
"I was going to consult her about her leg."  
"I was going to talk about dinner."  
"You both saw it too?" The men continued to chatter as Soumaya adored the accessory: the bone had been carved intricately into swirling, interlaced spirals.  
"Odo, did you make this?"  
"Yes, I carved it out myself."  
"Well, it can match your moustache," Raymond quipped.  
"She borrowed that style off of me," Heinrich continued as the squire nodded in amusement.  
Another knock. Without looking, Soumaya just dragged whoever was on the other side by a blind grasp for their collar. In spun Firuz, holding a vial of perfumed oil.  
"Wait here," Soumaya exited for a moment. She descended the steps & hadn't even exited the living room before she spotted Almaric & Ruben conversing under the portal. They were approaching with what seemed to be bundles in their hands. She whistled & waved.  
"Hey!"  
  


* * *

  
Ruben's tiny pouch of cardamom pods sat on Soumaya's desk with Almaric's silken kerchief & the rest of the gentlemen's tokens. As for the drink, Soumaya still clutched in her hand, her hip with the other. A new layer of white on her upper lip. She raised a deadpan eyebrow at the congregation of men in her bedroom pleasantly chatting away, themselves asking each other the reason of their visit, what they'd bring & what had happened to their guest's leg.   
But before she could sneak a word in edgewise, tapping came from the door once more as the room simultaneously paused its din. The writer opened the door as the knights peeked over her shoulder. The light from within shone on a grinning Latif who held out a silver platter of pomegranates, figs & other assorted fruit & nuts.  
" _From the baron,_ " he handed her the platter in Arabic.  
" _Shukran, shukran,_ " she thanked the housekeeper before he went on his way.  
She closed the door & handed the plate to her guests. Ruben took a fig while the Hospitaller took a small handful of dates before passing it around.  
"So..." She took a deep swig of the lukewarm beverage to a room of silent, captive knights. The milk moustache even more opaque now.  
"We never wished unease upon you, my lady," Odo started.   
"Am I that obvious."  
"New company often don't click in an instant as much we'd want," the Hospitaller Heinrich added.  
"And below a knight to be unapologetic to a lady he had distressed," Firuz continued. Soumaya only raised her hand & shook her head.  
"Ah. No harm done. Just introduction awkwardness. Like Heinrich said.   
"Now," she sat at the edge of her bed. "You all wonder why I walk with a limp," she wiped her mouth with her new hanky.   
  
As Lady Soumaya Of Byzantium recounted her tale of her once-dislocated limb to her audience, all formality & nerve seemed to dissolve into the night. Soon, her back & forth with the peanut gallery bled into their own recollection of injuries & seething of hyperbolic & hypothetical pain. Firuz lifted his sleeve to show a slashed scar welted upon the dark flesh of his right forearm. Odo, Almaric & Ruben had cuts on their torsos, both new & old. Raymond only had bruises for now but his hand was on its way to growing calluses from wielding a sword. Soumaya knew politeness & relatability would be a far cry for hard earned respect won in battle. But here was a good place to start. Here, everything began to feel alright. 


	12. The Start

Nothing felt alright. Everything felt on fire. It was only the first lap! Soumaya made a mental note to never berate Shahansah nor Lawrence ever again. She clutched her knees as she panted. The sun wasn't even that high nor hot yet. Soon enough, she continued to pick up the pace once more.  
  
She made sure to wake before sunrise. Even before Godfrey or Latif got up. The household had provided her with a plain tunic & breeches the day she came to stay. She even made a point to stretch before running.  
  
Now dehydrated & dusty, Soumaya felt she was going to die. She clutched her side as she panted against a wall.   
"Soumaya! what are you doing, girl?!"  
"God?" She shielded her eyes from the bright sky above. "Is that You, God?"  
"Look up."  
"Oh. Baron. Good morning," She craned her head higher up the wall to Godfrey's balcony. "I ran... like you said," she gasped between breaths.  
"I said "jog," damn it. I didn't say "run.""   
"Oh... Maybe that's why I'm lightheaded. I'm on my third--" she fell to one knee. "S'ok... I got it."  
  
She fainted on her eighth lap. The inhabitants of Ibelin had to drag her to the Hospitaller's.  
"Drink," he handed her a cup of water as he dabbed her forehead. "You should have carried your waterskin or drank enough before your rounds."  
"I didn't want to pee in the middle of em."  
Heinrich's eyes drifted to his superior on standby.  
"Look's like we've got our work cut out for us."  
A tinge of disappointment glowered in Godfrey's eyes as he looked at the gasping girl who resembled more like a fish out of water than a writer. Much less a capable fighter. But it was expected, this. Nevertheless, his king asked & he swore to deliver.  
"Bring this fish to the troughs when she's done gasping for air."   
  


* * *

  
Heinrich brought her to the stables. Raymond was already there, washing his horse. Soumaya drew close to greet the squire.  
"Soumaya, meet Fred."  
"He's lovely," she pet the Fred's damp, dark grey coat.  
"She. Short for "Winnifred.""  
Along came Godfrey on his off-white steed, dismounting & giving his squire the reins.  
"Make sure she cleans them thoroughly & keep an eye on the task," he ordered before going off to talk to Heinrich.  
"Grab a brush," Raymond motioned to a bucket as he put Zion in a stable. Soumaya did so & continued where he left off of Fred, lathering up her fur.  
"You've done this before?" He asked when he returned.  
"About time Lawrence was due for a bath, too," she glanced at her steed carelessly munching away at feed. "I guess I oughta get Shahanshah used to me washing him, too."  
"I thought you were supposed to be some high status lady of rank," Raymond grabbed another brush, soaking it in water.  
"I'm not nobility, Raymond. I just happen to be the king's biographer. My services were gifted to me-- er, I mean, _him_ by Archbishop Will."  
"How'd you get to know the chancellor, anyhow?"  
"I met him when I was a little girl."  
  
More than a decade ago, William Of Tyre was Jerusalem's ambassador to Byzantium. One day during his down time, he wandered off into the marketplace, taking in the sights, sounds & smells of Constantinople. It was like a portal to the past: the ancient Greek world thriving during his generation.   
After lunch, he decided to return to his lodgings. But before he could cross the threshold, he realized he lost something: his copy of Princess Anna Comnena's " _Alexiad._ " It had been gifted to him by the powers that be in an act of good faith. The tome was the princess' own recollection of her father's successes. Fearing not only embarrassment but also the loss of such a storied souvenir, the archbishop retraced his steps back into the market.   
He checked & doubled back, inquiring among the shopkeepers, from fruit vendors & blacksmiths to machinists & butchers.   
It wasn't until an hour before sunset did he happen upon a trader's storefront. Inside, he could see a child sitting on a crate, her tiny feet limply swinging over the tiles as she read a text. He recognized the corner & asked where she'd gotten it.  
"On the ground while walking with mama."  
"Ah, so you _did_ just happen upon it?"  
"Yup," this time she didn't even look up.   
"You see, little miss. That book is mine. May I have it back?" The archbishop extended his hand. She rolled her eyes up to the man & stared pensively for a second.  
"Can I give it back after the hundredth page?"  
"Well, where are you now?"  
"The seventy eighth."  
"And you understand all that?" William got on one knee & scanned her expression.  
"I can't imagine how King Al must've looked. There're no pictures. I dunno what some of these words & places mean... But I can figure it out? I guess? Sorta?"  
"You're using context clues."  
  
"Ahem," a middle-aged man with a dark beard & an aquiline nose cleared his throat. "May I help you?" Will rose to meet him.  
"Yes. How old is your daughter?" The shopkeep shot a suspicious look at the archbishop.   
"Soumaya? She can't be older than six."  
"Interesting. Has she always loved to read?"  
""Loved to?" Sir. She has a miniature library in her bedroom alone."  
"Darling, who is it? A customer?" An Arabic-looking lady entered the room. Soumaya's eyes only returned to the novel as the adults talked amongst themselves.  
"Archbishop William Of Tyre, emissary of Jerusalem. At your service," he shook Theophilus' hand. "By any chance, does your daughter have a tutor. It looks like she could use one."   
  
"And the rest is history. Our family was mercantile & Dad could afford to pay him," Soumaya dumped fresh water on the baron's horse.  
"Me? I was born here," Raymond began to mix soap with trough water in another bucket. "Mum's Frankish. Dad's Frankish. But I'm brought up in Jerusalem. Told them I wanted to be a knight & got to serve Baron Godfrey. Been to France... Italy... Spain not yet. You?"  
"Umm... Let me see... Anatolia, Arabia... the nearest corner of Africa but nowhere near where Firuz's from. Travelling's where Dad taught me how to handle Lawrence & other animals."  
"What? No fancy handmaidens & butlers & all that?"  
"Nah," she shook her head. "Mom & dad have their moments of penny pinching. Sure, we'd have maybe one or two laborers come along. Maximum of five or so for the longest journeys. But if we can do the drudgework ourselves, then we do it."  
"Really now," Raymond paused. "Show me your hands."  
Soumaya chucked the brush back into the bucket & showed the squire her palms. He grabbed one hand & palpated her flesh.  
"Liar," Soumaya snatched her hand back.  
"See this," she pointed to her right hand's middle finger. "A callus born of writing. But everything else is soft cause of upkeep. Oils. Creams. Exfoliation," she lifted her palm once more. To which the squire pressed his own hand against. His dwarfed hers, even more so when they interlocked fingers & closed their fists, lightly pushing against each other: a salute of brotherhood. "I'll get you some if you like."  
  
"Soft hands don't win battle. Hands that grip swords & grease chainmail do," Godfrey's voice loomed over her shoulder. He had almost made her jump. "Less chatter, more washing. While it's still day out."  
  


* * *

  
Soumaya straggled back to the castle & plopped herself down on a chair. She rubbed the bridge of her nose til she caught a whiff of something. The moment Latif came within the corner of her eye, she asked what's for dinner.   
" _Roasted fish with tomatoes & garlic,_" he answered in Arabic before scurrying his way.   
"Best not let the boss catch you asleep on the job," Soumaya yelped forward from the breath by her ear & the tickle of a moustache. She found a smirking Heinrich behind her chair.  
"Too late," Godfrey walked into the entrance & tossed a damp cloth at her. Soumaya caught it before it hit her face. "Finish your laps. hurry before we finish dinner without you."  
  


* * *

_  
Dearest Mother,  
It has been a month or two since my last letter to you & dad. Calm down, this isn't me practicing my right to confession. But it has been awhile.  
Lawrence is being taken care of & he's getting along with Shahanshah. I am well fed here at Ibelin since the baron insists I eat more gamy protein. With each passing morn & evening, he extends my jogging route's perimeter & slowly, I'm getting accustomed to it. Our Hospitaller on staff, Brother Heinrich's extended to try to stretch out my limp-- Yes, yes, I know. I would've never gotten it had I double-checked the scaffolding. Anyway, I declined him. I don't need to do away with it. It's not in the way. Truly.  
  
And speaking of painting & getting declined, I offered to retouch this fresco the baron has in his living room in exchange for taking it easy on me in training. He declined--  
  
_A knock came on her door.   
"Come in," she called from the desk. Odo took a double take at the writer, one hand continued to write while the other curled a weighty book up & down.  
"I see you're taking the exercise I recommended. But do you want to try something before dinner?"  
  
Odo led her downstairs to the veranda, out of the way of servants setting up for the meal. He told her to get on the floor like him, belly down with palms flat & apart on the ground. Odo pushed & was suspended on his arms & toes in a second. But Soumaya's arms wiggled from under her. She grunted as she collapsed & tried to raise herself again.  
"Try for three," he commanded. Soumaya exerted herself as she pushed against the clay, face contorted in effort. She barely made two & she was already panting, hairs sticking to her forehead. "One more, Lady Soumaya. One more or no supper."   
Soumaya pressed her nose to the floor before she pushed one last time & held herself for some seconds before her limbs gave way. She rolled over. Odo loomed over her panting form & lifted one of the stray strands, his Germanic features never changing. The bandanna she wore was completely soaked.  
"Do you have my token?" She looked up wearily & nodded. "Get it." She limply ran up the stairs then returned with the retrieved stick & bindings.   
Odo was looking out upon his lord's estate. He had her sit on the balcony's rugs & undid the sash. Sitting behind her, he ran his fingers through her hair, untangling & separating it into plaits. Odo's large hands brushed against her napes & temples as he set to work while she watched the people of Ibelin tend to the fields in the afternoon glow. Despite the seemingly dry earth, palms still sprouted from the ground & families could still live off the land. Odo unspooled the leather ribbons so he could tie the ends of the smaller braids not unlike his own. Like Baldwin, he was blonde. But his color seemed paler than the king's. Soumaya had half a mind to ask him if he had someone from home that he too, pines over. But she decided against it. She couldn't help but sigh though as her mind drifted to her loved one. _Should I write him again? Should I write **of** him once more or--  
_"Done," the knight leaned back. Soumaya turned to him before patting her head, aware not to disturb his work. "This way no loose hairs bother you with or without your turban." She walked to the wall mirror in the main hall.  
Like Odo, two braids framed her face. But the ends were tied in a braided bun behind her head, secured with the ivory pin. It was a tight knot without a hair out of place. She pronounced the word as best as she could.  
" _Danke._ " 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Jouko Ahola who plays Odo is Finnish. But my guess is his character would be of Germanic extraction.


	13. Pomegranates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two of Ibelin's denizens unwind in the midday sun: perfect timing to watch the baron at work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soz for inactivity. Had other stuff to do. But I swear this fic has an endgame & an attached crack story.

Suhail sat upon a rock in the shade, away from the midmorning sun. He chomped into his pomegranate, minding the seeds from wedging into his teeth. His sheep idled about as he watched his masters inside their training pin.  
"Morning, Suhail."  
"Morning, Yakov."  
The Jewish mason worker sat beside his buddy who nudged to make space for him.   
"Beautiful day, isn't it?"  
"Sunny as usual."  
  
Nearing their forties, Yakov & Suhail had been friends since childhood. Their families settled at Ibelin during different times but both came to know the Frankish noble as their baron. Along with the rest of the fief, Godfrey had watched them grow. Suhail came from a clan of farmers while Yakov was apprenticed into construction.  
Now, they watched their lord in turn.  
"What do you reckon Master Godfrey's telling her?" Yakov pointed at the training grounds.  
"Who? The Greek lass in crossdress?"  
"Well he ain't talking to the others now, ain't he," he motioned to the knights sitting on the benches behind Godfrey. They were looking on just like them.  
"Oh dear... lookit 'em little twigs go..."  
"Up, up, up, up, up..." The two friends narrated as the maiden picked up a sword in both hands the armed baron had pointed to. Her scrawny limbs wiggled under its weight as she held it aloft. Before gravity dragged it back to the dust.  
"Oh, poor dear. Tsk, tsk, tsk."  
"Master Almaric looks none too happy either."  
"None of them do."  
"What's she got to do with learning arms, anyhow?"  
"Oh look," Suhail passed a chunk of the fruit to his friend. "He's talking to Master Ruben now."  
"Obeys without a word."  
"No backtalk."  
"None," they shook their heads.  
"Op, there it is."  
"Whipped out: immaculate as ever."  
"Fresh out of the scabbard," they leaned back. Yakov stretched one leg out.   
"Well prepped as always, eh?"  
"Say what you will about those knights," Suhail pointed in between munches. "But their upkeep of their effects is--" he made a slice through air.  
"Oh, definitely. Definitely," Yakov nodded & began counting his fingers. "They grease their own mail, sharpen their swords & everything--"  
"And they teach their squires so--"  
"Oh-oh-oh! What's this now?"  
"Is he-- Is Master Ruben gonna fight her?"  
"Naw, mate. Knights are supposed to guard women & such. Maybe it's symbolic."  
  
"OH SHIT!" The two lurched forward in unison, iron grip on the rock they spectated from. It all happened in the crunch of a pomegranate seed: their swords aloft, Godfrey barked an order, Soumaya tossed the sword aside & bum-rushed Ruben's gut, her shoulder knocking him onto the dust. Immediately, she pinned the redhead between her legs, wresting the sword off his hands & plunged it into the dirt beside his head.  
  
"Soumaya!" Godfrey marched towards them as she helped Ruben up.  
"It's too heavy!" She whined, arms splayed out. "I can't subdue my enemy if I'm quaking under my own weight!"  
"Where'd you learn to pin like that?" Ruben worked his shoulder.  
"My friend, Moonlight. Wrestling's a Mongolian pastime. Never been to the steppes. But once travelling, I--"  
"If you're done reminiscing, Lady Soumaya," Baron Godfrey's stern voice interrupted her. His head gestured for Ruben to return to the benches. "Again!" The noble took his knight's spot & raised his sword as Soumaya picked up hers. "From _la poste di falcone_."  
She sidestepped to her right, the baron sidestepped to his, their feet following in a circle.   
"Tell me, Lady Soumaya," his blue eyes bore into her soul. "While you're regaling your enemy with tales of your travels, are you **_content_** with seeing the king grounded again?"  
"What?" He swung diagonally. She jumped back, pulling her gut in, felling her sword into one hand before guarding upright once more.   
"Quickly, now. His majesty's head is on the chopping block-- what do you do," he continued to swing at her. Soumaya struggled to guard, grunting all the way. "Is the sword too heavy for you? Or do you have to imagine holding the king's severed head to feel the weight of something heavier?" Godfrey twirled his weapon in one hand before swiping from below. Soumaya stepped back, watching the metal kick up dust. She lowered her guard again, sword in one hand. "If his highness had gotten hurt with you around--"  
"I would never forgive myself!" She began to slash back. Godfrey countered successfully each time. But now her steps were pushing forward. The two nobles' blades locked together.  
"And neither would the rest of Jerusalem, for that matter!" He pushed her back. She twirled her weapon. "In fact, I feel you ought to be hung for negligence, had you a chance to save him but didn't."   
Soumaya shot him an accused glance in-between clashing.   
  
"And what if he wasn't killed?" Godfrey twirled his blade some more, stalking her panting figure. "You think every Saracen has Saladin's honor?!" He started to wail at her parry as she clutched the handle, each bash burning into her grip.   
"I know not all Christians have ours."  
Godfrey kicked her in the gut as she stumbled backwards, grip broken from the handle. Her eyes followed the point at her throat as she began to crawl backwards.   
"So what now, Soumaya. What then? Will you wrestle every single assailant you come across?!" He raised the weapon high above but Soumaya rolled & stood before attempting to charge with cuts of her own. The baron dodged & dodged before lunging at her torso. She sidestepped & made for a diagonal slash but it was caught by his guard. Not lowering her sword, Baron Godfrey pushed her against the wall. She walked backwards til her head hit concrete, refusing to lower her guard. She grit her teeth, Godfrey's breath upon her face. "You claim to not fear death yet flinch at the prospect of being cut... Wake up, Soumaya. Wake up & fight!"  
"I already told you, damnit!" She tried to knee his crotch, "I'm." He deflected with his leg then stomping on her toes. "Not," she tried to ram his face with her pommel. He dodged. "A warrior!" Their head collided in a headbutt. "Ah!" She squinted in pain, dropping her guard. One hand clutched her face. Godfrey's knuckles met her cheekbone. She staggered back to the wall, unarmed hand fruitlessly grasping stone. Opening her eyes, one had begun to paint red. From behind the baron, Heinrich cocked his brow.  
"And like I said... that's no longer yours to decide anymore.  
"How does it feel?"  
Soumaya felt something warm run down her nostril. She looked down as a pomegranate-red droplet splashed onto the ochre earth. It looked like the fruit's seed before it graced the sands. She panted, still slightly hunched. Her eyes darted to her trainer.  
"Like a bitch," she soberly wiped her nose with her tunic sleeve. She straightened herself & stepped forward, positioning with the guard of the hawk again. She had half a mind to drive her hilt into his former arrow injury but decided against it.   
"Again," Godfrey clicked his tongue. "This time, focus on my eyes instead of the weapon. Later, add twenty more laps to your evening run," too, did the baron raise his sword in the hawk's post.   
  


* * *

  
_Oh my dearest,  
At this point, our love is no stranger to excessive sorries. But I **swear** , if it's something I'd done... The baron taught me swordplay for the first time __today. He conjured up perfect imagery of what should happen to you if I fail his course. Among other things, I've been taught how to grip a sword & how to guard via the __poste di falcone... As if my softness didn't know his capability for brutality before today._  
_In his brutality, I earned blisters of a different kind. It's a miracle of mercy I can write at all. That, or Brother Heinrich's an actual angel working miracles of healing down here. That. And/ or I'm willing to bear some small pains just to write you. Now, my hands know yours for they too, know swaddling bandages. But they **do** ache. Better ache than numbness... for now._  
 _-S._


	14. Waiting Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes a push & pull to get some things done.

The archery range spanned some three hundred meters. It was far away from any lodging or agricultural infrastructure. Six bullseyes dotted the end at the base of a hill. Baron Godfrey warned his fief's inhabitants that the range be declared off limits to their children. And like many things on Ibelin, the range was dusty & flat without a trace of shade around. Not even white, fluffy clouds passed overhead to lend their merciful aid from the beating sun.  
It was on this hot, desperately windless day that Firuz deemed it necessary to teach Soumaya how to shoot.  
"Trade," he gestured with one of the two bows he held to her waterskin. She complied as he handed her the smaller bow as he took a swig from the warm leather bag. "Ahhh," he corked the cap back on as he returned it to her. "Made for you," his free hand pointed to the bow she held. "A normal bow," he tossed his in the air before brandishing it in front of her intent gaze. "Weighs about seventy five pounds. Yours--" he took her weapon. "Is a little lighter. Baron Godfrey commissioned it."  
"And the king covers this, too?"  
"I suppose," he returned her weapon after inspecting it for a second.  
The scribe & the knight positioned themselves at the end of the range, ahead of the first target. Their quivers hung from their belted waists. The arrows barely shuffled inside as they moved, soundless among their footsteps & the disturbed earth. Firuz & Soumaya's faces puckered in the bright daylight, moisture already beginning to condensate on their features.   
"Do you know how to shoot?" He reached for an arrow.  
"Familiar," Soumaya followed suit & began to line it on her bow. "Maybe once or twice for recreational purposes... Otherwise I'm unsure."  
"Upuppuppuppupp, feet, Lady Soumaya. Feet... like this: one foot facing the target, one foot perpendicular-- a little more-- no, too much space-- back a bit-- forward... Perfect.  
"Loose one."  
Soumaya inhaled, pulled the string & let go. It flew in a curve & landed by the bullseye's foot. She tsked.  
"Don't lose it now. It's your first day & you've held up good enough so far."  
"I took _one_ beating from the baron," she looked at him dejectedly. Snarkily. Firuz lowered his bow, hands perched atop it. He smirked at her bruised cheek. The red still hadn't left her eye. "I didn't even win."  
"The point of sparring is less of winning & more of conditioning. One beating? For a soldier, that means almost nothing," this earned a sarcastic scoff from her. "For a... _posh_... _somewhat_ noble? Especially a girl? With a limp... That's farther than some people could ever take."  
She directed her eyes back to the front & withdrew again from the quiver, lining it up on the string while the bow was lowered. She raised it when she was ready.   
"Remember, my lady: you're not only pulling the string, but you're also pushing the bow-- Put your back & shoulders into it."   
She sent the arrow flying. It hit the center: bottom center of the white ring. Wordless, deadpan & pouty, she took another arrow & set it. Firuz followed her lead.  
"What we're doing here is the Mediterranean grip," he spoke while her eyes were still down on the bows beside each other. "Three fingers," Firuz demonstrated. "One above the string, two below."   
Soumaya followed his fingers as she raised her arm & aimed for the multicolored rings. She drew. Firuz lifted her elbow slightly.  
"Use the corner of your mouth as a guide, Soumaya. And aim maybe a little higher. Arrows travel in curves."  
"Good to know."   
"Aaaannndd..." Firuz continued as she pulled the string further, fingertips barely grazing her lips. "Loose!" His voice was barely above a whisper. The arrow toppled off of the string & clattered to the sand. Firuz snorted as Soumaya picked it up, set it in again & shot the bolt. The plunging, embedding sound set them both into a moment's shock. At the target's off-corner right, where the blue & red meet, the arrow found its home.   
As fast as she could, Soumaya the scribe unleashed four arrows: one buried itself in the sand above the target, one into the far right of the red ring, then one into the left upper corner of the black ring, then one in the sandy ground before the bullseye. Firuz let out a hearty laugh from his chest as he patted her shoulder before she reached into her quiver.   
"Easy, milady! You'll strain yourself like you did when you ran your first lap those moons ago!"  
"I'm never gonna live that down, am I?"  
"Just," he let go of her shoulder, backed up & set an arrow. "Relax," he shot the projectile. It's claim was yellow, near the border of red. Soumaya looked at her own target & inhaled & exhaled. She reached into her quiver, set the arrow & drew the bow as far as the corner of her lips would allow. Deeming her arms, back & shoulder taught enough, she released. Its feathers whistled, cutting through the arid air. The head dug its tip into the plush comfort of red ring, barely kissing yellow paint. The progress didn't hit her as much as her rivulets of sweat hit the earth. The beginning soreness of her limbs followed.  
"Do you have what I asked?" Soumaya hung her bow on her shoulder before pushing her tunic sleeve upward. The silver bracelet glinted in the sun. She uncuffed herself & handed her trainer the trinket. To which he walked into the range with. Producing some twine, Firuz looped it around the bracelet & pinned the rope in place. The cuff now suspended over the innermost center of the yellow sphere. He walked back to the writer.  
"Standard training's some three hours every week. But if you fancy longer, you can go anytime you--" She let loose another arrow. Corner top blue this time.  
  


* * *

  
Soumaya gulped more water. It wasn't even noon yet nor were her quiver stock substantially depleted but the land before her was marred with her attempts. Some arrows stood accusingly from the ground. Others pointed from the hill face behind the bullseyes. Most of them scattered like stars on the target-front. But the space within her bracelet remained empty.   
Behind her, sat Firuz on a bench, hunched over, face buried in his hands. _I didn't count on expecting much but... this girl... She can't shoot for shit! ... God help us all... Granted, it's her first time...  
  
_ Soumaya began to line another arrow & pull. But as she aimed for the multicolored target, her vision began to muddle. She squinted into focus before it blurred again. She shook it away & her sight began to clear again... until it didn't. She blinked rapidly. The moment her eyes began to cloud again was the second her fingers released the bow string. She had twitched & sent the arrow higher than expected: high above, past the hill. The two of them heard a scream.  
Firuz & Soumaya looked at each other, before stripping their quiver belts & climbing over to see who'd been hit. Her eyes had returned to normal. As they clambered onto the mini-plateau, the sighs & whines in Arabic grew stronger. A secondary yell followed along with cooing & more panicking in a mixture of Latin & Hebrew.   
  
The two of them arrived atop the apex. As their shadows cast on the ground, Heinrich looked up, squinting. Under him was the wounded shepherd who was shot in the right calf. Behind him was his burly friend, supporting his back & holding his hand: the two of them in a chorus of lamentations. It was joined by the bleating of scattered sheep nearby. Soumaya & Firuz skidded down the slope & ran to greet the trio.  
"What happened?" Firuz asked.  
"Well," Heinrich stood. "Suhail here, was just tending to his sheep. Til an arrow out of nowhere pierced his leg. By any chance, neither of you know an inkling of what happened?" He cocked his head at Soumaya who didn't meet his eyes. Her lips pursed, eyes wide & pupils shrunk.   
"Ay, Allah. Oh God, oh God, I'm dying!" Suhail panted out, returning the attention onto him.  
"No, you're not-- we'll live forever, you nonce-- oh God, please don't take him yet!" Yakov babbled, tears welling along his lashline. "PLEA-HEE-HEEEAAASEE!!! He's my best buddy! I don't know what I'd do without him!" Yakov's large arms embraced Suhail, making his eyes pop. The farmer's hands tapped his friend's forearms.  
"Krrkk... -nhand... me... you, dingus..." Suhail's shallow words made the mason ease up & hold his shoulders. Heinrich bent his knee to their level.  
"Hm," the Hospitaller lifted the pierced calf. "We'll have to operate--"  
"OH GOD, HE'S GONNA CUT MY LEG OFF!!!" Suhail flinched & began to sob into his friends chest who began to join him.   
" _If_ it gets infected," Heinrich stood again. "Before then we have to extract the arrow & patch him up," he met Soumaya's eyes. They beckoned her to follow & pay attention. "Right," he turned to the rest of the men. "Soumaya, run along & boil some water. The rest of us will help Suhail get inside."  
  


* * *

  
Suhail's trembling hand shepherded the wine goblet to his lips. Several hearty gulps flowed down into his gullet before he passed the cup back to Soumaya to set it aside. Everyone in the room could feel him shake on the wooden table. Bright daylight passed through the open door & windows of Castle Ibelin. Many lit lamps & candles surrounded them: Firuz stood in front of Suhail's feet, ready to grip his ankles while Yakov stood by, gripping his best friend's fist. Soumaya stood beside Heinrich & beside him were surgical instruments laid out near the bowl of hot water.   
The Hospitaller groped & held the wounded calf. Suhail twitched & Firuz held his feet down. The arrow remained embedded in his limb but hadn't pushed through to the other side. Suhail's eyes were sealed, creased & shut. His teeth bared in a pained grimace.  
"It doesn't seem to have gone through bone. What say you, Lady Soumaya?" Heinrich turned to her.  
"Break the arrow?" She looked at him.  
"You could... But what of the arrowhead inside?" He turned back to their patient.  
"WILL YOU TWO JUST GET ON WITH IT!" The farmer under them cried.  
"Wait here," Soumaya turned to the table behind her.  
"We're not going anywhere," Heinrich added. She turned back, pouring more wine from the decanter into the cup, giving it to Suhail. He emptied it & she filled it once more. He drank & she put the drinking accoutrements away. Taking a clean roll of bandages, she lifted it to his mouth.  
"Bite," he did so. "So," she folded her hands, gesticulating her options while looking at the wound. "If we break off the shaft, arrowhead stays inside... it stays... he'll be in..." She looked at Heinrich, "Pain? Forever?" Suhail shot a look at them, exhaling through his nose.  
"Maybe. If a cyst forms around it & he lives... or..."  
"He dies?"  
"HMMM?!" Suhail squealed against the gag.  
"Of infection," Heinrich continued.  
"Unless we amputate, right?"  
"Correct, my lady."  
Suhail's head spun back & forth as his friend remained gobsmacked.  
"Doc!" Yakov started. "What else we got?!"  
"Ask Lady Soumaya."  
"Me?! I--" Heinrich shot her a look that seemed to either say, _Go on_ or, _Think, Lady Soumaya. Think._ "Hmmm... We can't just yank it out?"  
"HRMMMPH?! Uuuhhh..." Suhail's head woozily slumped onto the wooden table. Yakov peeled his eyelid open as the rest of the table leaned in. The mason waved his other hand in front of his friend's face. Suhail was unresponsive.  
"I suppose I can let go now," Firuz added, letting go of the man's feet.  
"Yes, but we may need you in case he twitches in his sleep," Brother Heinrich replied. "You too, Yakov.  
"Now, where were we, Lady Soumaya?"  
"Pulling it out?"  
"Yes. But what shape is an arrowhead?"  
"Like a... pyramid..." Soumaya formed a triangle with her hands. "With the ends-- Oh. I see."  
"Yes. You pull that arrow from whence it came, expect a pound of flesh to follow. That leaves us with what?"  
Soumaya thought for a moment.  
"Oh no..."  
"Well?"   
She grimaced.  
"We have to do it don't we?"  
"Put your hands on both sides."  
The writer braced herself with a quick inhale as she steadied each hand on either side of Suhail's hairy gam.  
"Steady now, my lady. You two, hold him down if he starts moving," Heinrich placed his left hand beside Soumaya's while his right hand gripped the arrow shaft. "One, two," he began to push. Soumaya stared intently at the pierced flesh. They all did. She could feel the muscle's resistance to the foreign arm. She could feel Heinrich's effort pushing it through. Suhail began to stir but Yakov's hands on his shoulder seemed to soothe him back into responseless slumber. Soon, the other side of his calf began to tent... The bloodied metal tip began to peak as the Byzantine writer graced it with all her attention. The exit wound slowly dilated to accommodate the wider end. With one final push, Brother Heinrich had threaded the arrow through Suhail's leg, adding some shaft beneath the arrowhead.   
Taking a small saw of the instruments beside him, he began to cut the shaft under the arrowhead. It fell to the table with a dull thud. Heinrich made sure no splinters remained on the stick. He returned the instrument to the bowl of steaming water.  
"Care to do the honors, Lady Soumaya?" The monk looked up.  
"Hm?" She raised her brow at him. He took his place beside her, same position as her current one.  
"Pull."  
With her right hand lightly quaking, she closed her small fist around the shaft of wood still sticking out from the entry wound. Her tug was light & slow. With one hand, Heinrich took a square of linen & folded it into a smaller patch. The headless stick was pulled out without incident as Heinrich pressed the cloth against the bleeding exit wound. The patch seeped red in no time. Soumaya laid down the arrow beside the bowl as Heinrich motioned her for a new patch & replaced his position at the table's opposite side. Heinrich folded another patch & motioned Firuz to come over & hold it.  
The Hospitaller threaded a string through a needle before taking Firuz's place. In no time, a clean suture sealed the entry wound in less than five stitches. Heinrich looked up at Soumaya & joined her on the other side of the table. The linen had been soaked halfway through. He threaded a new needle & presented it to her. She gifted him with a double take.  
"Go on. No use being shy now."  
Her fingers quivered before she pinched the tiny instrument. It gleamed in the combined sun & candlelight. Heinrich had his hand on the patch as he eyed her. She gulped before laying her left hand near the wound & approaching the lip of bloodied flesh with the needle tip. The Knight Hospitaller watched her like a hawk. All men did. She was moving. But barely. She could feel her vision focus in & out. The tempo of her breath was steady yet the inhales & exhales were deep.  
"Are you afraid?" Heinrich's voice seemed to echo from within the deep. She soundlessly shook her head ever so slightly, not making eye contact with the mentor by her side. "Far too gone to be sheepish about guts & gore now, don't you think?"  
"It's not that," she replied above a whisper. "It's trying to fix something... then praying to God you didn't fix it _wrong_..."  
Heinrich couldn't help but smile at this as he popped his brow, elbow leaning on the table's edge.  
"I see what you mean. But will you know if you don't try? If you don't try, poor Suhail here's going to live the rest of his life with one hole through his calf," his eyes met Yakov's worried, accusatory glance. "If he doesn't bleed out here on the table."   
Soumaya gulped.  
"I suppose... it'd be less cowardly to try... undoing a wrong I've done-- even on accident."  
"Is something _better_ than nothing, my lady?" Heinrich earned a wide-eyed stare from her. But she shot her look back to the wound.  
"Guide me."  
The Knight Hospitaller held her much smaller hand & pushed it til the needle pierced the farmer's skin. Heinrich let go once it passed to the other side.  
"And pull, Soumaya." Her eyes followed the thread as she guided the needle back onto the other side. Her eyes darted to Firuz.  
"Push & pull?"  
"Push & pull," he nodded.  
With each stitch, her fingers flew surer & surer. It took seven stitches to close the exit wound & Heinrich taught her how to knot the suture. All needles were dispensed into the water bowl that had grown lukewarm. Bandages went around last.  
  


* * *

  
The day began to wind down as the sun was close to setting over Outremer. Clouds had resumed their place among the sky, painted shades of pink by the orange sunset. A breeze had escorted their return. Tiny zephyrs blew past whatever loose strands weren't bound to Soumaya's braids or the sweat on her brow from the evening run. She gazed upon the baron's land from his balcony as the servants were setting up for dinner. Some of the knights were nearby, chatting amongst themselves. From her post, she espied Suhail, talking among friends & family. He leaned against a wooden crutch. The injured leg, bent & suspended over the ground. His mother or aunt or something gasped as she held her mouth while others laughed. Yakov was beside him as always. He gave his friend a pat on the back that nearly shoved him off balance. It seemed like they traded insults & playful jabs for a bit before returning to laughter & storytelling-- the day's events the most excitement civilians around Ibelin had had in awhile. It was many hours later but the operation remained fresh in Soumaya's mind. _At least his complaining's swapped with laughter for now.  
_ "At least he & his friend's howling has stopped for now. Replaced with their regaling on what had happened today."   
Soumaya didn't know when Heinrich had manifested but he was there, beside her. Holding a cup. It reminded her of the wine she'd fed Suhail hours before.  
"Anything beats complaining," subconsciously, her hand clutched her pant leg's side. The side where her limp was. _Another accident, another casualty... I really gotta stop being careless._ "Is that wine?" She looked at the monk. He handed her his cup & she downed it unceremoniously. "Let's go get you some more," she left the balcony & Heinrich followed suit.   
  
Dinner was arriving soon. In the distance, livestock bleated along with the call of other animals. The people of Ibelin made ready to greet the night. _I still ain't gonna get my leg fixed... But I gotta tell him. It's begun._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Reference: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SOdC3PQ8wPA  
> -my brain: hey! wanna do a self-insert fanfic cause you horny for the king?  
> also my brain: heck yeah!  
> also also my brain: *develops individual relationships for OC & canon characters* @_@  
> also also also my brain: *holding wine & 2 glasses* WHERE DAFUQ BALDWIN AT?! (Kalma. He's coming.) Hah, that'swhatshesaid.


	15. Roll With The Punches

Ruben & Almaric's hands wiped the rings in circular motions. The clinking sound of the mail being rubbed provided accompaniment for the clang of swords Odo & Raymond swung about outside of the awning.  
"Gents," Soumaya exited the castle.  
"Soumaya," both knights nodded at her as she took a seat beside them. Draped over her shoulder & arm was Godfrey's chainmail. In her other hand, a bowl of grease. Laying the suit over her knee, she lathered her hand in the oily substance & began to caress the metal.  
  
"Pay attention, Raymond," Odo called from afar. The trio sitting down paid them no mind. Soumaya was finely acclimated to life on the fief at this point, despite arriving not so long ago.  
For a considerably brief time-- way too brief in the lives of true knights, she'd learned to adapt to what her mentors asked of her: the basics. No means an expert. But definitely more competent in survival. What discipline she put in writing & art, she tried to apply to fighting & whatever else in this pseudo-knight lifestyle the men had been hired to teach her. It was a far cry from the rigidness & unforgiving warrior life, true. But for a girl who never expected nor planned to be a fighter, the fundamentals were enough.  
When she wasn't training or practicing drills, she returned to her speciality. During her stay at Ibelin, she continued to write about life on the fief, the people there, updating the chancellor archbishop on the manuscript, updating her parents back home on the state of herself, & of course, writing to Baldwin. She enclosed all the poetry she'd written about & for him & he'd reply when he could. But even that was rare. Often, on purpose. He was a busy man who had to keep their correspondences on the down low, lest their interactions arouse suspicion, if not gossip.  
  
Running her slicked hands against the interlocked rings over & over made her space out. The rhythm of clinking mail lulling her into a trance...  
Until Raymond sliding on his back, knocked the bowl of grease onto himself. Almaric & Ruben stood out of the way in time. But the rain of dust settled onto the greased links of Baron Godfrey's freshly cleaned mail in Soumaya's hands-- if not Soumaya herself. She un-crinkled her face, sand grains flitting down. She lifted the suit she just cleaned, now caked with dirt.  
She cast it aside on her stool & marched indoors. The men's eyes following her without so much as a whisper. She came back out with a broadsword, gripped Raymond by the scruff of his cowl, dragging him back in front of Odo before dropping his collar & taking her own spot, stance ready.  
"Right. Whomsoever concedes first, **RE-CLEANS THE BARON'S ARMOR.** "   
  
Raymond retrieved his discarded weapon while Odo gripped his handle in both hands: ready with the guard of the hawk. Soumaya favored a medium guard: knees bent, feet apart, broadsword crosswise.   
The three of them waited, set in a pyramidal standoff. Eyes darting at one another. It took... maybe a minute til Soumaya winked at Raymond before her eyes shifted to Odo.  
  
The squire & the scribe rushed the Germanic giant: Raymond coming from on high while Soumaya aimed a one-handed slash from beneath. Odo spun, dodged the both, & guarded against Raymond. Soumaya aimed for Raymond's torso but he saw this. He broke his guard & dodged, parrying her succeeding blows. Odo tried to kick Soumaya in the ribs but she sidestepped away, flanking behind him & jumping onto his back. Her lean arms wrapped around his thick neck as Odo tried to swing her off. Raymond tried to slash Odo but he parried successfully, one hand trying to pry Soumaya's arms off of him. Odo kicked Raymond in the gut & the squire slid backwards on his bum again. Odo stabbed the ground with his sword. His large hands gripped the writer's forearms & he swore he heard her squeak as he tried to pull them apart. In one forceful fling, she tumbled beside the squire. The two younger fighters took one look at each other before jumping on top of their opponent. The much larger knight marched onto their mini flurry before raising his massive boot above them. Soumaya saw his shadow & lunged out of there, somersaulting to where a sword was while Raymond found his chest pinned by his senior's foot. Like a cat, Soumaya pounced on Odo's back again, this time trying to climb his shoulders with her feet to no avail. It was like trying to climb a sweaty, living mountain. Under him, Raymond sunk his teeth into the bigger man's ankle. Odo pulled his foot up as Raymond squirmed away on all fours, spitting into the sand. He had dropped his sword when he felt himself being lifted by the shirt. He glanced over his shoulder & saw that Soumaya too, had been disarmed. She struggled to get off of Odo's shoulder to no avail, hanging like a bent sack of potatoes. Try as she might, she couldn't roll off.   
Back in their seats, Ruben & Almaric smirked as they maintained their armor. Ruben shook his head in amusement. Tiny creases by Almaric's eyes, showing. But before the knight could lift the squire to his intimidating gaze, the scene not unlike a fullgrown lion, toying with & about to discipline two wily kittens, the sound of whinnying & hoofbeats approached.   
  
Baron Godfrey galloped close as all five of them straightened to greet him. The noble dismounted, his gait serious as ever. Servants took Zion's reins. But the ride, the approach, the aura... it brought foreboding along the tailwinds. He took one look at Soumaya. Then the rest.  
"Where's Firuz?"  
"He's at the blacksmith's, my lord. Having his weapons & ammunition checked."  
The five of their heads snapped at Heinrich behind them.  
"When did he get here?" Raymond mouthed at Soumaya to his left. She just shrugged, as shocked as the rest of them were.  
  
"Somebody fetch him, then," Godfrey commanded. "Tell him the lot of us should make ready for the morning. Saladin had just laid siege to Jacob's Ford," the knights started for the castle they resided in. Their baron followed, walking astride the writer.   
"It's time for you to go home, Lady Soumaya."  
  
Her stay had been cut a week short.


	16. Rendezvous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baldwin & Soumaya reunite at last.

Dr. Sayed Of Edessa ventured down into the palace's bowels that balmy evening, all the while wondering why the king should summon him there. Wall-mounted torches flickered as he walked past. The physician was a man of steady disposition. And right now, like many times before, it did not falter while he made his way to the former dungeons.  
The newer detainment block had been relocated to a sturdier, opposite wing. Save for lighting fixtures & pillars, the old space had been gutted of bars, cells, & furniture-- staff debating whether to turn it into food stores, storage space or training grounds.  
  
As he descended further & further, new sounds added to the echo of his once-lone footsteps: the clash of swords-- the banter of companions! They got louder & louder as he encroached. The music of sparring reverberating along the stone bricks a level or more underground, witnessed only by the flames of the sconces. Dr. Sayed walked down a hallway til he found an open door in the right wall-- shadows of the duellists playing upon the opposing facade. He recognized those two voices.  
  
His usual baritone cracked as he screamed the moment his majesty's head hit the dirt-- his biographer on top of him, the king between her legs, her face ever so close to his mask in smug satisfaction.   
"Ah, Dr. Sayed," the mask turned to the physician as if on cue after he called the king by his manner of address. "Great timing."  
  


* * *

  
The good doctor soberly wound his monarch's arm with fresh bandages. He had changed from his armored ensemble back to his default white robes. Soumaya sat nearby, scratches patched up but still in the dust-covered outfit he found them in. She contentedly sipped her chilled sharbat. Stacked pistachio shells sat on her corner of Sayed's table. The three of them were alone in his office.  
Never-stopping hands switching flawlessly between ointment application & wound dressing his sovereign, his eyes darted to Soumaya at the sound of her cracking another pistachio shell between her molars. He cocked his brow before his dark eyes returned to his work. This was not lost on The Leper King who exhaled mirthily.   
"What troubles you, my friend?" Baldwin's eyes smiled at Sayed.  
"Your majesty, if I may... What exactly were you two doing down there?"  
The writer's unsurprised eyes lifted to the doctor before shooting to her man. Her expression, nigh Heinrich-esque.   
"Sparring," he remarked casually. "Soumaya & I fancied a bit of a spar."  
  


* * *

  
She wanted to see them away before they marched. The baron's platoon & Soumaya left Ibelin after a brief ceremony & blessing by Brother Heinrich in the chapel. By then, the men were already in travel gear, uniforms not unlike their horses: Winnifred, Zion, & the rest; All fed, watered & packed with provisions. This time, Soumaya rode on Shahanshah with Lawrence following from behind.  
Upon reaching Jerusalem, Baron Godfrey insisted she be escorted to the palace first but she wholeheartedly refused. After a quick trip to the souk, watering hole & withdrawals from the Templars' bank, they were set. She pecked them all & shook their hands. Naturally, Odo gave the biggest, tightest hug. But Godfrey gave the longest one as she stared onto the horizon outside of one of Jerusalem's main portals behind his shoulder. She closed her eyes for a brief moment as he kissed her temple. She committed to memory the feel of his stubble & the gruffness of his voice that for once, wasn't barking orders at her. He looked at her once last time before pressing his lips to her forehead, then letting her small hand slip away from his grip. He, Brother Heinrich, Almaric, Ruben, Odo, Firuz & Raymond exited the Holy Land & galloped for Jacob's Ford. No apologies, no tears. Just well wishes, thanks & prayers of safety.  
Soumaya crossed herself before kissing her rosary. She decided to walk back to the palace, leading her two steeds by the reins.  
  
She hadn't walked fifty paces til she felt the ground rumble beneath her almost-flat boots. The sound of a cavalry approaching behind her.   
" _Make way, make way! Hyah!_ " Male attendants cried in Arabic. Soumaya paid them no heed, watching her square-toed shoes kick up sand. " _Boy? Boy! Get out of the way, child. The princess rides. Give her the road._ "  
Soumaya looked over her shoulder, shepherding Lawrence & Shahanshah to the sidelines. She looked up & her dark eyes locked with familiar hazel green ones that almost rode past. She halted her party & unveiled herself.  
"Lady Soumaya," her smile as bright as ever.  
"Princess," Soumaya curtsied as Sibylla eyed her up & down.   
"Well... you look _fantastic_. The good baron whip you into shape?"  
"Well, feel for yourself," she rolled her tunic sleeve to the bicep, offering her limb to the mounted princess. Sibylla pinched her & indeed, some muscle had replaced her softness under her seemingly frail frame.   
"My, Lady Soumaya, you've done some growing."  
"Is the prince with you? How fares he?"  
"Why don't you ask him yourself since we're heading the same way."  
"Aye," Soumaya tethered Lawrence's reins to Shahanshah & mounted the stallion. "That. We. Are."  
  
They arrived at the palace with little fanfare. After greeting Badouinet, Sibylla offered to bathe with her but she declined, wanting to unpack & rest before cleaning herself & reuniting with her lover.  
  


* * *

  
Her new bow sat crosswise on the mantle above her fireplace. Raymond's orchids had long dried in between the leaves of one of her weightier tomes that she stacked on the desk. On the wall above it, she pinned a drawing of Will she had done at Ibelin. Its identical twin mailed to the chancellor archbishop many moons ago. She set aside her depleted inkwells in proximity to their refills she had just bought at the market. Soumaya slid her bound folder of portraits onto the table-- stuff to hang later. She wiped her hands on her silk kerchief before plucking unused clothes & accessories from her luggage. Then, she gathered her toiletries & undid her hair of it's bone pin, leather bindings & tight braids.  
  


* * *

  
Soumaya the scribe reeked of sandalwood. Not much was left in the vial Firuz had given her. But on special occasions like say, reuniting with one's lover, she doused herself in it before & after dressing, post-bath.  
  
As she waltzed down the same corridor to his chambers, it felt like a revisiting a memory-- the same chandeliers, the same fires, the same shadows cast onto the same mosaics. Before meeting him again, she decided to eat alone in her room-- going through her head what to say, what to process, putting herself in his shoes eating alone without her...  
At Ibelin, the outside reflected the inside: if she thirsted, she panted; if she got hurt or got angry, she growled before she obeyed. Back to this setting though, she hid her giddy anxiety: so close yet so far from their first meeting alone together. She reminisced fondly, lowering her eyes at the floor, intertwining some fingers, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips...   
But as her eyes drifted upwards, red flags planted there. No guards stood before King Baldwin IV's doors. To her knowledge, he did not march to Jacob's Ford. She debated herself for a moment before peeping inside. The hinges squeaked in the silence. His room was lit as always. But before his desk was an open crate. Lady Soumaya Of Byzantium limped over to investigate.  
  
_Heh, these look like the ones back home_ , she took the books by the handful. The marble floor cool beside the box as she sat down. _Ovid... Sappho... Plato..._ She cracked open a copy of the _Iliad_ to find a written dedication in Greek on the first page. _Kinda looks like dad's hand! "Dearest Soumaya, happy twelfth--" wait a minute.  
_A month or so ago, Soumaya had written home about following over some texts from her personallibrary. She'd pay for postage & Theophilus & Dunyazad agreed.   
  
Soumaya picked up the discarded crate lid. It bore Greek stamps of the port of Constantinople.  
"Tch," she rolled her eyes as she chucked the lid away. "That lousy, leprous bastard opened my mail!" Soumaya seethed. Her eyes darted to his table where some of her books lay scattered. "That congested masked leper... why I oughta--" She noticed an open note in his hand in Greek.  
  
_The song of songs which is Solomon's.  
Led tim kiss mi with the kisses af his mouth: for thy qove is better than wine. Because of the savor of thy gool--   
  
What on earth... _Soumaya thought as she sat down in his chair. _I know it's King Solomon's book but... Wait._ She plucked a quill from his inkwell & some scrap vellum. She continued to read.  
 _  
...ointments thy name is an ointment pourec forth, therefore do the virgins love thee. Draw me, we will ren after thee: the kimg hath brouwht mu intr his chambers: we will be glad & rejoice il vhee, we xill remember thy lgve more than wine: the upright love thee. I am black, but comely, O ye daughters ov Jerusacem, as the tents of Kedar, as the curtains of Salumon. __Look not upon me, because I am black, because the sun hath looked upon me: my mothez's children were angry with me; they made me the keeper of the vineyardh; but mine own vineyarv have I nst kept.  
__Tell me, O thou rhom my soul loveth, where thou feedest, where thou makest thy flock to rest at yoon: for why should I be as one that turneth aside by the flocks of thy companions?_ _If thou know not, O thou fairest among women, go thy way forth by the footsteps of the flock, and feed thy kids beside the shepherds' tents.  
I have compared thee, O my love, to a company of horses in Pharaoh's chariots. Thy cheeks are comely with rows of jewels, thy neck with chains of gold. We will make thee borders of gold with studs of silver..._  
  
Soumaya read to the end of the page where the passage ended: C _hapter one, verse fifteen_ , she noted, scribbling it down. Her eyes scanned the page & she began to proofread, scratching out the obvious misspellings-- too deliberate to be done by mistake even with Baldwin's failing vision. With the correct letters, the note read,   
  
_The old dungeon  
Two floors down  
-B. _   
  


* * *

  
Light & shadow were her only companions as she descended to the depths. Even with lifting her robes & lengthy trousers, they still brushed the stone steps as she made her way down. Once she was two storeys underground, she called out his name, sure no one else was there.  
"In here!" He called from a room within the wall.  
Soumaya reached the space within. Inside hung a curtain. If she squinted, she could see his silhouette, changing.  
"Do you need any help?"  
"No, no. Stay were you are," he replied plainly. She could hear clothes shuffling inside. His lithe form, shifting within, eased something onto his arms. She paced the ground before the cloth as he spoke.  
"So... Soumaya, my dear... how goes the training?"   
"Well enough, my lord. Most of my tutors were patient with me before you called them off to Jacob's Ford.  
"Will you ride?"  
"If the need arose & the cavalry isn't quashed by then? Then, perhaps.  
"The courses?"  
"We've done swordplay, archery... first aid & _some_ surgery, among other things. Feels like I've touched every other subject under the sun," she reminisced fondly, smiling. "Everything..." The smile faded. "Except... _**you**_..." Her voice dropped as she stared at the curtain, trying to focus on his barely-visible shadow.   
"Look at us," he continued from where she trailed off. "Conversing behind drapes as if we were dining together for the first time--"  
"And I curse these damned curtains keeping you away from me! Baldwin, are you done?! Let me see--" The fabrics parted. "...you..." Her eyes lingered on him, top to bottom.   
He wore a third copy of the mask-- it was thicker & beaten into the form of a face in a way less refined than his default mode. It may have been a proto-covering for the onset of leprosy. The shadows within his eyeholes hid his blue eyes yet Soumaya could feel the burning longing of his stare. If it weren't for this faux face, balaclava, gloves, & setting, she could have mistaken him for any other knight: tunic, voiders, chainmail, surcoat, breeches, boots-- nothing that betrayed the layers of bandages & medicine within. Then, her eyes drifted to his layered belt where a very real sword hung by his hip.  
"What's all this then & what's that for?" She crossed her arms.  
"This," he gripped the hilt, unsheathed the blade & swung it at her.   
  
Soumaya didn't notice the table at the far side of the basement til she ran for it. On the spread were several freshly cleaned weapons, one of which was the too familiar broadsword of the crusaders whom she now shared hand blisters & callouses with. She gripped the table's wooden edge before looking over her shoulder at her lover stalking towards her. His footfalls eerily slow & even, patting upon the dirt.   
" **Have you gone insane?!** " She panted.  
"Come now, my sweet. Let's see what you've learned."  
"You idiot! You overexert yourself, you're gonna--" She rolled her body to face him, still holding onto the edge.  
"I won't--" With one hand, he raised his sword at her one more time.   
" **AAAAHHHH!!!** " She screamed before diving to the side & rolling as Baldwin buried his blade into to the table's edge. "My **God!** The heat's gotten to you, hasn't it?! It's either that, or you're mad Tiberias didn't allow you to march & you're venting it all on me!"  
With only his right hand, the king tried yanking his steel off the table but had to rely on the leverage of his leg to help pull it out of the furniture.   
"No, no. I just want to see how good you've gotten since you tend to study about everything, absorbing everything you've learned & putting it to use," he sauntered over to the corner she was in, blade in hand. "If you plan to cower all night--"  
"I'm not cowering," her hands were held up in front of her yet The Leper King still continued walking towards her. She still couldn't see his eyes.  
"I just might write a complaint to the baron of his pupil's impudence..."  
"Baldwin, enough!" She straightened, palms still facing him. "I can't hurt you & I don't _wanna_ hurt you... And I can't let you hurt yourself. So..." Her elbows began to buckle. "Cut it out..."  
"Oh I'll cut something out, alright."  
Soumaya flinched, eyes snapping shut as her empty hands clutched air. She heard the sword swing & felt its air by her face. She heard the grate of metal against stone & warmth radiated in front of her. She blinked an eye open.  
In front of her was his majesty's chest, the width of a hair away from her nose. She opened both eyes & lifted them to the metal face that loomed above her. And there she saw him-- twins of clouded blue glass staring her down with adoration... with amusement... with... _Is that... mockery?!_ She straightened.  
  
The underground room was spacious but this corner began to feel claustrophobic. Chests heaving, their mutual panting made their clothes scrape against each other but just barely. Baldwin's eyes smiled as he released a dry chuckle. Eyelids now heavy, his blonde eyelashes caressed the eyeholes' rims. His dominant hand let go of the sword's grip & reached for his belt, unsheathing a dagger. He aimed the business end of the sidearm at his woman, her eyes never leaving his. He lowered his face to her neck, barely touching as her eyes fluttered shut, head tilting subconsciously. He inhaled her perfume.  
"Sandalwood..." He exhaled, pulling back. Slowly, he met her eyes again. He dragged the dagger tip down her chest before stabbing the cloth & flicking it up her cleavage. Expensive silk tearing the only sound at the moment before she gasped. _That did it_ , he thought. Her fingers lowered to her neckline, fingers picking up the ruined garment.  
"This is... Byzantine brocade..." Her eyes widened as she seethed in anger, curling her lips inward, teeth clenching. His faux face drew ever nearer.  
"What are you going to do about it," he sheathed his dagger & reached for the embedded sword above her shoulder. Her eyes searched him before darting under his arm, rolling & making a run for the weapons table behind him. She brandished the broadsword as he turned to face her. _Oh, God... Dr. Sayed is gonna **kill me!**_ Soumaya thought. Behind the mask, his broken lips curled into a smirk. Behind him, he reached for the handle & pried it from the concrete.  
  
"This isn't fair," she prepared her stance, bending her knees. "This isn't right," she backed up, straightened, head held high as she lowered the crusader sword into one hand. She curled her left fist & tucked her arm behind her back. She returned to her stance. "Now, it's a fair fight," she rushed him.  
  
She aimed for a high blow. But Baldwin received her with a guard. Soumaya broke it by swinging both their arms to the side. She backed up, further & further into the wider space, egging Baldwin to follow. She dodged his low, diagonal swipe & parried a forward thrust. With a full swing, she came from on high a barrage of blows-- they all met his crosswise guard with loud clang after clang echoing off the walls. She twisted aside before his diagonal attack could hit her. They both stepped back a second. Wielding singlehand, Baldwin could not use _la poste di falcone_. So he opted for a chest-level guard-- the same level as Soumaya's, except hers was held crosswise.   
Sidestepping, they circled one another. Three or four cycles in, Baldwin lunged at her. She dodged, sweeping her sword from below. But he parried quickly & dodged backwards. Soumaya stepped forward, guard up again. She could see his eyes more, now that they were closer to torchlight. But his breathing was even clearer: labored & raspy. She slowly pressed forward as he continued to back away.  
"Baldwin... we _need_ to stop this now, okay? I don't know... how much more your body can take..." Her guard was slipping.  
"No... no, you _would_ know... you're there-- you always have been: in war, at my desk, by my bedside... Even when I'm alone, you **_invade_** my very thoughts & heart--"   
"That's very sweet. You do the same for--"  
"Let me finish. Hear me, O, Lady Soumaya Of Byzantium:... have you an inkling of how _**difficult**_ it is to focus with you-- without you...   
"Even as I'm writing & your letters arrive-- how distracting your words & poetry!" He lunged for her but she met his guard-- their swords pushing against each other. His mask drew near her, eyelids hooded. "You do more than just... _distract_ ," his whisper sent chills down her nape.   
She blushed, pushing him back, laughing. Baldwin hit the curtained wall.  
"Maybe I wouldn't be so distracting, if you've gotten me out of your system," other arm still pinned, she fixed her askew turban. "But no, you sent me away," she started forward. Transferring his sword to his looser, nigh-numb left hand, Baldwin slowly reached for his belt with his right.  
"And do you resent me for it?" He flung his dagger at her. She dodged. It was a wide miss & the small knife found its home in the dirt far behind her.  
"No! I found it quite enriching!" She rushed for him-- Baldwin swiftly returning the sword to his dominant right & running for her only to drop to his knees & slide under her swing. He recovered his sidearm. He pointed his weapon at her, still on his knees: one bent & the other, folded. She faced him, now stalking forward. Her jingling baubles ringing to the rhythm of her footsteps.  
  
"I come here to see you again: nice & clean & not in drag & what do you do to me," she looked down on him, the tip of her broadsword tracing his. "You skirmish with me & rip my blouse--" She raised her blade. Baldwin cast his weapon aside & jumped for her legs, his arms enveloping her limbs. Soumaya fell back with grit teeth. Her own weapon clattered to the sand as her headwrap hit the ground. Baldwin hurriedly inched upwards, his chest pressing hers down. But swiftly, her legs coiled around him as she rolled the king beneath her. She pinned his wrists on either side of his head.  
"And you opened my mail!"  
"We already agreed beforehand you'd lend me your books!" With all his strength, Baldwin wrested his wrists off of her & shoved Soumaya aside, wriggling free & getting to his feet. He snatched a sword from the dirt. His gravelly panting even more audible now.   
"Waiting would have been nice!" Behind him, she scrambled for the grounded dagger & chucked it at him. It flew above his left shoulder & stuck into the wall before his mask. "You could have waited for me!"  
His head snapped at her. She was kneeling in the spot where she had plucked the knife.  
"You would have gotten here anyway! I thought we were past formalities, Soumaya?"  
"Still, we hadn't seen each other in forever," she motioned to stand up but gave up halfway. "I guess..." She collapsed on her haunches, palms flat on the ground. "I just expected better decorum of my boyfriend, let alone a king..." She arched one knee & draped an arm over it, casting her glance aside. "But what do I get? Pre-opened postage & a ruined dress."  
"I'll buy you a new one," he sheathed the sword.  
"A new one?" She looked up at him.  
"Yes," he nodded curtly.   
"Well... well..." She got up, dusting herself & clapping the sand from her palms. _Now that I think about it, have we ever **bought** each other gifts outside drawings & poetry?_ "Well, that doesn't fix your shitty code--" Her head snapped in his direction in a quickness. "Like, how obvious can you be?! The _Song Of Songs_?! Really?! A _book_..." She folded her hands, gesticulating this way & that. "By another king of Israel... in the format of epic poetry... spoken by **_two lovers_**...   
"THAT'S OBVIOUS AS HELL & SO ARE YOUR CODEWORDS--" Soumaya held up two fingers.  
"If I spread it out any further, Soumaya, I might as well have transcribed the entire bible! Is that what you want of me? Your _poor_ , sickly king writing his hands raw & exacerbating the failing condition of his eyes--"  
"You're the one initiating the sparring match right now, not me!" Her eyes still trained on him as she stomped towards a sandy broadsword & picked it up again. "Why are we doing this anyway?" She raised it in the guard she was accustomed to.  
"I told you," King Baldwin IV Of Jerusalem readied his stance. "To make sure your learned something out there...   
"You may use both hands now."  
"That still isn't fair to you, is it?"  
"Tell you what: you down me once more, & we'll halt practice."  
"Not if your illness gets to you first."  
  
For a little while longer, the two of them duelled some more. Their weapons clashed in a comfortable rhythm. Fundamental footwork got the job done. The sliding of metal against metal not as loud as the head-on collisions from earlier.   
Suddenly, Soumaya's sights began to strain. She tried to squint the blurriness away but before she knew it, she'd made a lunge for Baldwin, aiming for his head but instead widely missing his shoulder. Instinctively, her left hand flew to grasp her face. She misjudged the width of a sidestep & turned, her own shoulder meeting the edge of her king's blade. She staggered backwards.  
"Ah," she dropped her weapon & clutched her arm, leaning against the bricks. Baldwin sheathed his sword & jogged to her. By now, her vision had cleared. His brows furrowed within the mask as he inspected the cut. Soumaya sneered as it lightly stung, some sand grains sticking to the red line. "It's not deep but--"  
"What happened just now?" His gloved hands held the torn fabric apart.  
"Remember what I wrote you?"  
"How often does it happen now?"  
"Rarely. But it's just begun...   
"At least I can still feel with my skin," she raised the fist that belonged to the cut arm, clenching & unclenching it.  
"For now, Soumaya. For now. But-- see? What did I say would happen?"  
"Are you gonna scold me for our coupling?" She pushed him away, reaffirming the grip on her hilt. "Or are you gonna..." She raised her guard. "... _Discipline_ me?" Soumaya tilted her head in that sarcastic second.  
King Baldwin's gnarled mouth curled to smirk once more as he readied himself: now bending low, knees bent, & closer to the ground. She swung at him diagonally, coming from her shoulder. He stuck out his foot & she nearly tripped face-first into the ground before she caught herself on her palms. Head snapping back at him while on all-fours. He straightened, tilted his head back & started laughing-- his voice: sonorous & rich, resonating from the confines of the metal face.  
"Oof!" Soumaya tackled him to the ground, pinning his chest with her forearm as she looked upon him victoriously. "Now," her face drew closer, her breath barely fogging the mask's surface. "Many times, Baron Godfrey showed me mercy but his tutelage was nonetheless brutal... Payback for that shouldn't be so swift...  
"I know tickling you to death probably won't--"  
"YOUR MAJESTY!" Dr. Sayed yelped from the doorway.  
"Ah, Dr. Sayed. Great timing," Baldwin greeted his harried physician.  
  
He ushered the two nobles to his office straight away.  
  
Thoughts of Soumaya kept Baldwin awake, night & day. His longing worsened by the mail he received from her. Despite the symptoms of leprosy, she brought warmth to his damaged skin in more ways than one. And so, when her belongings arrived from her homeland, he opened the parcel in a hurry. Her paraphernalia reminding him of her scent, her wit & everything in between.  
To the king, Dr. Sayed was summoned not only as a precaution against accidents, but as an unwitting safeguard against temptation. Baldwin felt he needed a foreign element to remind himself to not to get carried away. Had the monarch been left alone to reunite with his biographer-turned-paramour in a semi-public place, he might have forgotten the "public" part of the location. And something told him that with Soumaya, the feeling would be mutual.  
  


* * *

  
The physician from Edessa fastened the bandage's end with a clasp. His sovereign donned a glove before lowering the white sleeve. Dr. Sayed began to sort his bottles back into their original place til he sighed.  
"Your majesty, if I may."  
"Go on..."  
"You have my love & loyalty," his gloved right hand pressed over his chest sincerely. "And the tears of battle are to be expected..." Sayed cast his glance aside, gesturing to the space beside him.  
"However?"  
"However... When you are here at home, I beg & pray of you, your highness, **_please_**..." He clasped his hands, looking at his king. "Can you _stand TO TAKE IT **EASY**_ \-- even for a little while--"  
"I'm sorry, my friend," King Baldwin smiled with his eyes apologetically. "But Lady Soumaya here just arrived & she simply _begged_ to demonstrate her new talents," the young man stifled his sniggering as best he could as he felt his girlfriend's wide eyes dart to him-- lips puckering in annoyance. She was about to open her mouth before Sayed got ahead a of her.  
"Lady Soumaya, forgive me. But you do know the king is a leper, yes?"   
The writer's eyes ping-pongged between the two men in front of her-- her beloved's eyes in sneaky, grinning arches as if to say _Go on. Tell him that I, The Leper King, initiated the skirmish._  
  
"Nuh-uh, I ain't taking the fall for you, your majesty," she wagged her finger at the chuckling, masked king, bobbing her head side to side before looking at his physician. "Dr. Sayed," the writer pointed at Baldwin. "He started it."  
" _Me_? _Willingly_ trade blows with _**you**_?" The king's exaggerated speech was as long as his melodramatic gestures to himself & Soumaya. "Why, I'd never!"  
Dr. Sayed Of Edessa rubbed the bridge of his nose.  
"I can't control the sandstorms no more than I can control the swings of Mamluks' scimitars nor the slow creep of leprosy upon his majesty's flesh. I can only assuage the results of carnage in faith of a less bleaker end...  
"But you two!" The healer pointed an accusatory finger at the wide-eyed teenagers who held their hands up. "You two can control your shenanigans!  
"Have either of you an idea of my worries past-Marj Ayyoun?!" He pointed to his highness. "You! You had to get yourself thrown off your horse!" He then pointed at Soumaya. "And you! You had to go in after him & get the both of you **kidnapped**!  
"NO MORE SPARRING WITH THE KING!" Sayed's voice near cracked in that high-pitched squeal back in the basement.  
"But I--!" Soumaya's protest was answered by slap upside her crown. "Hey!" She held her almost-upturned turban.  
"I mean it, girl!" He pointed some more before moving to Baldwin. "And you! Bedrest now! Doctor's orders."  
Before Baldwin could get up, Sayed slapped the back of Soumaya's head a second time.  
"What was that for?!"  
"That's for the two of you! I can't touch him-- he's the king. And he wouldn't feel a thing, anyway.  
Now get his majesty to bed, scribe!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so so so much to everyone who took the time to read my work & sorry for the delay!


	17. Nightcap

Soumaya steadied the headwrap. As the two of them walked down the hallway, the distance between the couple & the doctor's office grew ever further. Sure no one was around, Baldwin locked fingers with Soumaya as a smile crept up her lips.  
"We're not returning to your quarters yet, are we?" Her eyes still remained on the path ahead.  
"Oh, we are. We just need to get some things from my desk."  
"You mean _my_ things."  
"If it suits you, my lady, it can be _our_ library, then."  
  


* * *

  
"Get that platter over there," Baldwin pointed as they entered his chambers.  
Soumaya gathered the bowl of fruit & nuts into her arms. She noticed a tray of unused chalices beside a decanter of wine nearby. Plucking two cups, she made room next to the food. Baldwin was at his desk, picking up one or two handbooks he had started.  
  
It wasn't long before they journeyed for the basement a second time that night.  
  


* * *

  
Having less items to hold on to, Baldwin parted the curtain in which he'd changed in. While fighting, Soumaya paid the stack of boxes, crates, & barrels to the side of the room no heed. But when she turned the stack, there was enough room between the containers & the wall for maybe three or four rugs laid flat & overlapping. On the carpets was a mattress & a pile of pillows. An oil lamp burned at the corner. It's glow flickered as Soumaya stooped to lay her bundle down, inspecting the space.  
"A small sanctuary," the king watched his writer, the firelight bouncing off of his mask & eyes. "Away from prying ears & invading glances."  
"How..." She sat on her heels, turning to him. "Did you do all the heavy lifting?"  
"You were gone for maybe a month or so," he crouched to her level. "Courtiers tend to leave one alone when the king says he wants to... _survey,_ _inspect, & plan _the space by himself."   
  


* * *

  
Firelight danced off of the mask as it sat untouched at the corner of a rug. Baldwin plucked another grape off the branch & delicately pushed the morsel into his mouth with his fingertips. Past the bandages crisscrossing around his face, he watched Soumaya as she read, letting his beloved lull him in their comfort. Both had slipped off their footwear which now lay discarded away from the carpets. Soumaya had shook off (most of) the grit on her person. And now her voice spake the verses that King Solomon had penned oh so long ago.  
  
" _...Take us the foxes, the little foxes, that spoil the vines: for our vines have tender grapes._  
" _My beloved is mine, and I am his: he feedeth among the lilies._ _Until the day break, and the shadows flee away, turn, my beloved, and be thou like a roe or a young hart upon the mountains of Bether.  
_  
" _By night on my bed I sought him whom my soul loveth: I sought him, but I found him not. I will rise now, and go about the city in the streets, and in the broad ways I will seek him whom my soul loveth: I sought him, but I found him not. The watchmen that go about the city found me: to whom I said, Saw ye him whom my soul loveth? It was but a little that I passed from them, but I found him whom my soul loveth: I held him, and would not let him go, until I had brought him into my mother's house, and into the chamber of her that conceived me..._ "  
  
The palace still had some security. But what with most soldiers fending off the siege at Jacob's Ford, less staff meant less likelihood of gossip spreading. The couple could remain in their trysts for longer before each returning to their own chambers before sun up. So much as staying up late together in the same room with zero servants around would be enough to rouse suspicion.   
  
" _..._ _Behold his bed, which is Solomon's; threescore valiant men are about it, of the valiant of Israel. They all hold swords, being expert in war: every man hath his sword upon his thigh because of fear in the night. King Solomon made himself a chariot of the wood of Lebanon._ _He made the pillars thereof of silver, the bottom thereof of gold, the covering of it of purple..._ "   
  
Soumaya's reading snatched him out of his reverie. The ancient king's words buried guilt within Baldwin's heart: his men were defending against Saladin at Chastellet for almost a week. Meanwhile, he's at home, lounging in the company of his mate.  
" _Behold_ ," Soumaya smiled sweetly at him. " _T_ _hou art fair, my love_ ," she edged closer. " _Behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves' eyes within thy locks: thy hair is as a flock of goats, that appear from mount Gilead_ ," her fingertips brush past his wavy, golden bangs. Baldwin, not feeling the light scrape of her fingernails against his forehead. " _Thy teeth are like a flock of sheep that are even shorn, which came up from the washing; whereof every one bear twins, and none is barren among them_ ," her thumb brushed the petite hairs on his chin as she tilted her face to meet his lowered gaze. "I've seen that look before."  
  
He sat up, lowering the bushel of fruit back down onto the platter. He drank from his cup then rested his outstretched arm upon his bent knee.   
"My men are out there fighting yet I am here in the throes of pleasurable company. Though I **_know_** I am no coward... I can't help but _feel_ so.   
"What say you, Lady Soumaya?"  
"I say I can't say much lest I influence you--"  
"You already have," he took her hand & pecked it with a smile. She scoffed.  
"Warwise, Baldwin. Warwise, I shouldn't say a thing. Our coupling has tainted my chronicle though try as I might to keep objective," she reached for a bundle of red grapes by the green ones he had picked. "Then again," she brought herself to thought after dangling the grapes over her open mouth for a second. "Many chroniclers didn't fail to record their opinions," she raised a brow. "Princess Anna, included... Procopius, **_especially_** ," Soumaya finally dangled the vine of red grapes into her mouth, prying them from the roots with the pull of her teeth & chewing. "I know our _daskalos_ has a certain personal remark or two in his writings."  
Baldwin chuckled at this, reaching for some dates & popping them into his mouth.  
"" _I wept the day that I discovered--_ ""  
"" _...that the king's son was a leper_ ,"" Soumaya joined him in his quoting. They both chuckled at the thought of remembering their mutual tutor's texts, fondly remembering him & how he's the reason their relationship came to be. But with reminiscing comes the twang of guilt in the knowledge that they'd never be able to tell their beloved teacher of their romance.  
  
"Anyway," Soumaya's gaze changed from the floor to Baldwin's as she drank from her cup. "Speaking of opinions, it's mine that whatever your decision, you're far from a coward. The very fact that you _think_ that your soldiers are worthy of your thoughts in everything you do-- the fact that you ordered me for their stories to be recorded... so they may be retold one day-- It's admirable. Baldwin, there's a reason why you have your men's love & why they're willing to live & die by your rule.  
"Even Saladin thinks highly of you.  
"Lesser men have held status as high as yours & they gave into temptation & unjustifiable conquest. Some had ailments less horrid than yours & yet they decided to pity themselves, _stay_ bedridden & have their countries ruled _for_ them.  
"Yet here you are, hands on the reins at an even pace. Not even twenty yet."  
Baldwin paused as he clicked his tongue. Soumaya continued to eat her grapes.  
"I see...  
"If you need to turn to flattery for a shred of wartime impact--" His very words made her choke as she chucked the bunch back to the plate. She slowly regained chewing, careful to not let a whole grape slide down the wrong chute. "You could--"  
"Oh bloody hell yes, I'd love to dip my toes in the complicated art of warmongering & have the many heads of infantrymen hang by my hand-- or! I could be the court jester: weighing in my influence at the _Haute Cour_ , all the while getting paid to roast Guy De Lasagna in front of everyone!"  
"... so I take it that's a "No,"" he chuckled. _Oh, dear. It appears she's taken my little jab a tad **too** seriously. _  
"Been to war, seen it, recorded it, not a fan. Seen heads raised high to salute their flags & seen heads tumble for 'em. Still not a fan. So I'll take hard pass, darling. I'm fit to write," she took a handful of pistachios. "To paint!" She picked one up, shaking it. "To illuminate," she cracked the thing between her molars before devouring the contents in a crunch. "Besides, staying home gives you the chance to distance yourself from the battlefield, allowing you to make more objective decisions while keeping safe from the carnage which allows you to regroup for new opportunities to succeed in...  
"I just gave you my input for battle, didn't I?"  
"Yup."  
"D'oh!  
"Baron Godfrey & his men taught me everything from healing to skewering with a pike on horseback but nothing about full-on battle tactics involving a command of many.   
"But while you're listening to me," she clicked her tongue. "War elephants," she splayed the fingers of her open palm before him. Her eyes, wide & matching her manic smile.  
"War elephants?"  
"Yeah," she leaned back, sitting crosslegged. "Take a page from General Hannibal's book! Import a lot of them from Africa!" She gesticulated, one hand pinching the air. "Put your feet in Saladin's shoes: you're marching the sands with your men, you see the wavering blur of the horizon & all of a sudden, the leprous twerp you've been bickering over Jerusalem with is up on high on this strange, gigantic beast!" She tossed herself into the cushions in hysteric laughter. "Oh can you imagine," she held her head. "Being high up on such a behemoth, staring your enemy down...  
"You'll definitely get remembered for that," she propped her head on her hand.  
He too, laughed, lying back & turning to her.  
"I suppose I might."  
  
The young king rolled onto his back. Baldwin's hands folded on his ribs. Soumaya's hand supported her head, one leg resting on top of the other. The two of them lingered in the comfortable silence as they stared at the vaulted ceiling. Their breathing & chewing the only sound in the room.  
  
"I've been considering something but I'm already doing it," Soumaya spoke first, eyes not leaving the cement above.  
"What?" Baldwin's head turned to her.  
"Ink's already on paper: a private manuscript of our life together. No one has to know it exists."  
"Whatever happened to "no witnesses" or "never putting our love on display?"" The Leper King wasn't mad. If any shock or displeasure had he, it didn't show on the outside.  
"Yeah... For now. But what if somebody needed to know our story after we died," her head snapped to his gaze. "You, The Leper King Of Jerusalem, hero of Montgisard, scion of House Anjou," she pointed to him. "Me, one of history's most storied chroniclers, spiritual successor of Princess Anna Comnena!" She pointed to herself. "Two daughters of Byzantium: one noble, one common. Both mistresses of history," she held up two fingers. "You & I separate: accomplished & remembered in our own, separate legacies... But together," she meshed her fingers together, locking them in. "Our secret romance discovered long after we perished from this earth-- imagine the stories they'll tell about us!"  
His pokerfaced-eyes drifted from her clasped hands to her semi-excited expression still looking at the fist she made.   
"Imagine... two young lovers... maybe born in a similar spot or have some other circumstance keeping them from each other... & they look to us & say "look at Baldwin & Soumaya! They made it work..."  
"And they make _their_ situation work," she lowered the fist onto her solar plexus. "And we were part of the reason how they made it work..." Her eyes met his. "That's influence I want to have-- what I want _us_ to have. What we currently have between us is faith & hope _despite_ knowing what the endgame is for the both of us."   
"Death waits on your door not long after he takes me," he tucked a stray hair behind her ear.  
"Exactly," she took his fingers before he could retract them. "Our love may not survive leprosy. But at least, let our story live so our love may conquer history," she kissed the bandaged knuckles-- not unlike their first meeting, her stare never leaving his.  
  
"But, yes... Presently, no one need know of our union..." She faced the ceiling again letting go of his hand. "Not even... Dr. Sayed," her head snapped to Baldwin & she shot sitting up. She slapped his shoulder once before letting loose a barrage of lovetaps-- all of which he could not feel but chuckled anyway.  
"What are those for--"  
"FOR GETTING SLAPPED UPSIDE THE HEAD, THAT'S WHAT."  
"Bu--"  
"Don't start saying "at least you felt it hurt,"" she pinched her nose & spoke in his accent. " **Baldwin** ," she raised a finger, inhaling, & puckering her mouth. "No, it didn't! But I'd rather the palace physician _**not**_ scold me!  
"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT, MAN?! Did you expect me to take the fall?!"  
"I didn't expect anything," he chuckled, beaming wide. "I just wanted to see your reaction!"  
"Yeah? Well there's your reaction," she pushed his shoulder once more & he allowed himself to collapse onto the pillows, arms splayed out, giggling.  
  
"Are we still going to spar?"  
"Not tonight, no," Baldwin was lightly muffled by the pillows surrounding him. "But we'll continue to practice in secret. You're good but you can do better."  
"You're really gonna disobey Dr. Sayed, huh?" She crawled over to his mini pit & loomed over his form.  
"What Dr. Sayed doesn't know, won't hurt him," the king brushed her cheek to get to her hair under her sashes.  
"It'll hurt you. His job's hard enough as is," she joylessly exhaled, voice growing lower & lower.  
"It's a sin to lie & disobey willfully but I'll go to confession in the morning," his eyelids grew ever heavier.  
"So is lying together unmarried but I'll go if you go," and with that, her mouth captured his. Baldwin leveraged the turban off her head & the roll of cloth tumbled down her shoulders, carelessly unspooling.  
  
His kiss tasted like the sugariest of dates. His teeth: like pits to suck on. Baldwin could feel nothing, of course. And yet, he still pushed & pulled against her rhythm while Soumaya felt everything: the scales of his broken face, the coarseness of the gauze, the caress of both his eyelashes upon her cheeks & his hand sliding down the small of her back. Supported on pillows & her elbows as she held his face, she lifted a leg so she could cage both of his. Baldwin broke the kiss.  
"I thought you said you wouldn't pity me or baby me."  
"Less talking, more friction. We'll discuss it in the morning!" She continued devouring his mangled mouth as he grabbed the tear he'd made earlier & ripped it down her abdomen, exposing her sheer slip. This time, she didn't care. She only struggled for the oil lamp amidst his heavy petting & blew out the fire. 


	18. Duet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAHHHHHAAAHHAAA I FINALLY FINISHED THIS CHAPTER OMG Y’ALL I’M SO SORRY TO HAVE KEPT ERRYONE & THEIR MUMS WAITING *more ugly sobbing* this chapter. HAS BEEN SITTING IN MY GOOG DRIVE FOR MANTHS!!! months i tells ya. i can't believe it's done (unlike the fic so hold on to yer masks & turbans lords & ladies of the court)

1180

_King Baldwin IV Of Jerusalem knew when to quit. He knew when the wind shifted opposite his way, he'd either wait for its return or go to wherever it blows. This time, it blew in Sultan Saladin's direction. However, said sultan was willing to meet him halfway for, he too, had known great losses. No ruler-- no commander knew a life nor victory purely devoid of casualties. For both King Baldwin IV & Sultan Saladin, it was no different. _

_After the Muslim king captured Chastellet for the Ayyubids, a great plague washed upon his people like a crashing tide. Countless crusader lives were lost in the fray: their bodies piled in a mass grave on the property. In the right conditions, death's bedfellow is pestilence-- right conditions being it's August & it. Is. _ **_Humid._ ** _Broken pride & low morale marred King Baldwin's charge while sickness tore through Saladin's camp. Both warmongering monarchs knew grief & so did their men. It was high time in both sovereign's eyes that destruction be postponed to a later date: a later time where they both had rebuilt what the other had undone. _

* * *

One could hear a pin drop in the massive, crowded entrance courtyard-- the sound would mix with the breathing of everyone present, the crackle of fire from the lamps & torches, & the scratching of inked quills on vellum. Every man present could hear the raspy breath coming from within the metal shell that covered King Baldwin IV's face. But the crowd's eyes were transfixed on the table between him & Sultan Saladin.

Even Soumaya had paused her writing lest the sound of her scribbling interrupt Baldwin & Saladin's exclusive duet. The chronicler too, watched from her far end of the table. When the parchment would be lifted to reveal another document to sign, she'd lift her eyes to scan the room. Marshal Tiberias was as close as ever to the king, Baron Godfrey right beside him along with Guy De Lusignan & other commanders; The rest of Jerusalem's retinue behind them, craning their necks to see the signing. At some point, she locked eyes with Imad ad-din al-Isfahani, Saladin's faithful, if not sometimes contradictory secretary who stood by his superior's side. It only lasted an unblinking moment before they tilted their heads back to the tabletop. 

Before the command dais was a sea of men, cut cleanly in the middle. One side were the knights of Jerusalem: every order under the Outremer sun from Templars to Hospitallers to Baldwin's personal guard. And within the castle, who knew how many more-- many of which stood guard & spectated from the surrounding crenelations. And to the left of the command platform, the Saracens: almost all of them wearing black robes save for some banners in red, green, gold & white, inscribed with sweeping calligraphy. Outside, the majority of their forces stood, awaiting this fateful meeting's verdict. 

In due time, a verdict's what they got. The last of the papers were reviewed & signed. Each camp's scribe took a copy & stashed it in their documents folder. Imad whipped out a thick, black glove by Saladin's shoulder. The sultan snatched it with his left & sheathed his right hand. Now covered, he extended it over the table & was received by The Leper King. Deep, dark eyes met just-as-serious blue ones peering through a decorated mask. Two firm shakes before they let go. Soumaya clapped with the rest of the room. A thread of words wormed its way into her mind. She committed it to memory for the manuscript:

_The applause was not thunderous. If anything, it was like a patter of rain against window glass: seemingly great in volume but no strong wind-- no voices or cheers. It's just..._ ** _there_** _._

_How heavy does a loss have to be to humble men to sue for peace?_

Up on the dais, both retinues crossed the divide to shake each other's hands, sharing a polite nod here & there but rarely a smile. Guy De Lusignan would not partake in such an act. And so, he slipped away, back into the folds of his troops.

"Sultan," Soumaya finally got to Saladin, bowing & curtsying before him. He raised his brow in recognition.

"Ah. Lady Soumaya," he held her hand for a second. "Is the horse giving you any trouble?"

"He has all my love, your grace," she gave a short smile.

"The horse?" Saladin feigned surprise. "Or..." He briefly turned, searching for his rival, presently speaking with a couple of mixed representatives. 

"I..." She stuttered, eyes blinking rapidly. Saladin raised an eyebrow before she caught herself. "I named the horse Shahanshah."

"I see..." He paused, eyes drifting to the ground for a second. "Ismat. She loves the poetry."

"That's great!" Soumaya contained her enthusiasm, clasping her hands & bending her knees in a second. "That's--"

"Power of your prayers, no doubt," he briefly smiled.

"Shall we exit, your excellency," The Leper King himself came in between them. Saladin gestured for Baldwin to lead the way.

Both entourages grew separate once more as the aisle between both armies widened to let the leadership through. Saladin & Baldwin lead the path down the dais & through the gates, the rest of the retinue in tow. The two kings chatted between themselves as Soumaya watched & followed.

Then she glimpsed movement out of the corner of her eye. The rest of the troops spectated nigh soundlessly with little action, waiting for both councils to exit before they could follow. But a tinge of red from both Templar crosses & graying hair dyed with henna caught her sights. She saw Guy with an individual she herself hadn't met yet but heard of: the master of the grounds everyone currently stood on, whose castle portal they now walked through here in Kerak: Raynald De Chatillon. He & Guy were conversing over something. Soumaya squinted her kholed eyes, trying to make out their expressions while her body continued to walk the other way. One skill she never learned was reading lips. 

"Who are you spying on," Soumaya nearly jumped out of her flesh as she found herself strolling alongside Imad. She rolled her eyes at him.

"Jesus Christ, Imad," she exhaled, fingers splayed on her chest. "Are you _trying_ to end my career before its zenith?"

"Hmph," he exhaled haughtily. "I suppose you don't want this, then." 

Soumaya felt a hard corner prod her side. She mouthed "Ow," flinching away before looking down at Imad's sleeve. In it was a new booklet covered in fancy gold leaf details.

"Second copy: a new poetry collection of mine."

"Ooh... gimme, gimme," she reached for it before the secretary held it out of her reach, wagging a finger. 

"Ah-ah. First, forget your... _minor_ victory." 

"Are you still salty over that chess match?" She folded her arms. "I thought we made amends, that. Buuuuut... Nah, I don't think I _will_ forget it anytime soon. Cheers & have fun nobody reading your work," she picked up the pace, walking ahead of him.

"Ah! You wound me, my sister," Imad clutched the book over his chest in feigned agony as he matched her speed. Soumaya's eyes still followed the text, greedily. "Eh?" He waved it in front of her face, swaying it this way & that, her brown irises following closely without fail.

"How about this: release your previous mandate &\--"

"Done!" She snatched the book & leafed through it immediately, eyes drinking in the lightly browned parchment & the flowing, fluid handwriting. Her Arabic wasn't perfect but she'd make do.

By now, all soldiers were following. The two lords exited the gate, the sun raining down on them & all of their charge. Once every platoon was in their rightful rank, the kings shook hands one last time.

" _As-Salaam-Alaikum_ ," Baldwin held up his right palm.

" _Wa-Alaikum-Salaam_ ," Saladin answered in kind.

Jerusalem watched as the Ayyubids rode off. Some soldiers unwittingly held their breath til not a single black robe was in view of the desert before them. Eventually, all were called back inside Kerak Castle to make ready for the return to Jerusalem.

* * *

Soumaya excused herself from the retinue once they crossed the palace gates. She opted to take Shahanshah to the stables herself, citing, "I'm gonna check on Lawrence. He might be missing me."

Meanwhile, Baldwin & his two most trusted aristocrats waltzed past the main courtyard where the _Haute Cour_ was usually held at & walked into the king's office. The baron took a double take at count beside him. Tiberias' lips were set in a line, his brow slightly furrowed.

"Now, I've seen that look before."

"It's just a hunch-- a premonition."

"Tiberias... I saw them, too. What they're up to, my guess is as good as yours," the baron reassured.

"Until they commit anything, no harm nor accusation touches Guy De Lusignan nor Raynald De Chatillon," Baldwin interrupted without a break from studying his model fortification. "However," he looked over his shoulder at the older men. "If you feel your suspicions ought to be founded soon enough," he returned to the colorless miniatures. "Keep an eye out."

"What now, my lord?" Count Tiberias approached his master, the Baron Of Ibelin following suit.

"We rest. We rebuild. We recuperate until we are ready to bring the battle to Saladin again."

"And what shall we do presently, your highness," Godfrey too, inquired over King Baldwin's shoulder.

The Leper King only looked up from the table as an idea sprang to mind.

* * *

Soumaya reached the stables, immediately leading Shahanshah to drink.

"Lawrence?" She called out, attention still on her horse & not yet looking up. "You there, boy?" She finally unbridled Shahanshah, locking him inside his stall. "Did you miss m--" She looked up after hanging the reins. Her words caught in her mouth as she saw a tiny hand caress her camel's fur.

"Here we are again, my good lady," Sibylla turned to her, beaming, before turning to the son she carried.

"Princess," the biographer bowed before approaching.

"How goes the treaty?"

"Well, we got peace," her mouth pressed into a fine line. "Lord knows for how long," Soumaya inhaled, rolling her eyes up, closing her eyelids & throwing her head back. "Please let it be long, O Lord."

"Peaceful times aren't so exciting. Wouldn't that be a little bland for your writing, Soumaya?"

"Eh, maybe," she leaned her back on a stall, folding her arms behind her head & balancing one foot on its ball. "I'd prefer some excitement, too. But I'd rather excitement not cost any lives: Saracen or otherwise. 

"'sides, my job isn't to write of adventure. My job is to cover his highness' life & make sure he gets remembered.

"He's fond of you, you know," Soumaya's words made Sibylla snap to attention from Badouinet's petting. "He misses hanging out with you... He'd spend time with Prince Badouinet if he could."

The softest, purest smile pulled at the corner of Sibylla's mouth as she slowly returned her attention to the prince. Soumaya's eyes lingered among the rafters before she closed them to rest, somberly inhaling the familiar smell of hay & livestock.

"So..." Sibylla started. "Is this a ceasefire or a truce?"

"There's a difference?" Soumaya's eyes remained closed.

"Well... one is made in the name of peace for peace's sake. The other, a declaration of war's postponement. Which one do you think my brother picked?"

"Maya..." The writer felt something plush & warm touch her cheek. Her brow twitched & one raised before she peeped open an eye. The royal toddler had shifted his focus towards her as Sibylla lifted him to the scribe.

"What do you suppose Saladin chose?" The princess passed her son to the younger noblewoman.

" _Chaírete_ , small one," Soumaya settled the prince in the crook of her arm. "Knowing his majesty?" Her other hand found its place on her hip. "Ceasefire," she nodded. "But hey, if it stops the marching, & the battling, & the bloodshed for now," she took Badouinet by the armpits to look at him. "Ech, I can't complain," she shrugged before hugging the giggling, babbling prince. "Toh-may-toh, toh-mah-toh. Catapult, trebuchet, ballista, slingshot--"

"My lady! My lady!" Sibylla's handmaid patted over, lifting her skirt. Her caramel skin, flushed from running. She panted, leaning onto Lawrence's pen for support.

"What is it, Fatima? Rarely do I see you like this lest a dashing knight or five arrive at the palace gates," Sibylla chided. 

"It's your brother, madam," the girl managed out. Immediately, both noblewomen snapped to attention. 

"Is he hurt?!" Soumaya handed Badouinet to his mother. Fatima's hand flailed in front of her face as she shook her head. She swallowed, still panting.

"No, no. His excellency's alright. It's just that he--"

"Assemble the banquet," King Baldwin IV Of Jerusalem cried to a courtyard of palace staffers. The command was met with mixed enthusiasm. Regardless, it was livelier than the truce signing & any enthusiasm was better than none. Baldwin knew his kingdom needed it.

"Yahweh, bless our souls! How exciting!" Madame Shoshana clapped in her corner of the hall. "We hadn't had a revelry here in ages-- maybe not since his majesty's coronation when he was a wee lad. An--"

"Speak for yourself, madam," Anais the scullery maid scoffed. "That only means more work for us."

"Aye. That maybe so. But at least we get to gawk at the finery & feasting--" A footman named Harold butted in.

"And partake _in_ some of that fine feasting," Madame Shoshana concurred. "Now, off you go-- we must make haste for tonight!"

" **_TONIGHT?!_ **" Sibylla & Soumaya exclaimed in unison.

"Aayahgblbl..." Badouinet joined in, giggling. Lawrence groaned in reply.

"Yes, madam. We must make ready & choose your wardrobe," Fatima replied. **_Wow._ ** _Thanks for the heads up, Baldwin. Great timing,_ Soumaya pondered on what to wear.

"Hey, Fatima. By any chance, you don't have an extra supply of henna on you?"

* * *

Wetting the cloth, the young biographer wrung the excess water back into the bowl before pressing the fabric onto her hand. Fatima's henna work had caked over hours ago-- enough time for the stain to seep into her olive skin.

Pushing through the window, the dusk's competing blue shade failed to envelop the candlelit chamber. On her bed lay her chosen wardrobe for the night: the colors of home to dress in for later. But as she wiped off the excess henna, Soumaya caught herself in the mirror. A fingernail lifted to the corner of her mouth. She felt it scrape her skin-- she could see flaking & lighter patches. She exhaled soberly.

Uncovering some small pewter bowls, she swatched the creams across the back of her hand. Ever since the desert, Soumaya experimented with everything from soil to herbs to her very own art mediums until she found a color close enough to match her skin. In small doses, it would blend seamlessly: a quick fix to a problem with no solution. And with a translucent veil obscuring her visage from her eyebags to the neck down, no one would notice anything amiss. With a fingertip, she dotted the dollop around the affected area then burnished the mixture into her skin. Glancing at her reflection, she turned this way & that. _Perfect_ , she wiped her dark fingertips with the rag. Fatima's design bathed her nail tips & fingers wholly brown. Cutting off at the phalanges' ends, the pattern veered into geometric arches that ended past the wrist-- still far away from the permanent mark of Jerusalem's cross on her inner forearm. 

Already, she could hear the minstrels & troubadours tuning in the courtyard. She resolved to just dip her hands into the water & scrape off the excess henna while submerged. She made a mental note to lessen contact with the baby Badouinet. However, total absence may mean heartbreak for either party. She decided to continue remaining in his life & the princess’ at least before the open sores manifested.

* * *

With tattooed hands, the chronicler parted the balcony curtain. Over the horizon, she saw the whole of Outremer under evening’s dusky veil; The courtyard below her no different. Nobility & warriors filtered inward as musicians performed a few paces corner back of the throne dais: no Baldwin on top of it for now. But Sibylla was already arm in arm with Guy, greeting guests. And by the look of it, bored out of her mind.

A reflection of firelight off of a familiar bald head caught Soumaya’s attention. She fled downstairs as fast as her limp would allow-- a lot more leeway since training at Ibelin.

* * *

“You’re alive.”

Raymond was the first to catch Soumaya in his arms as she squeezed him tight before exchanging pecks with the baron. 

“Of course, we’re alive. You saw us at the signing.”

“Yeah, but interacting with each other wasn’t on the itinerary & we all split on the ride back.”

“You look very...” Firuz started, eyeing her top to bottom.

“Byzantine,” Almaric added aptly. Soumaya twirled, displacing copious amounts of patterned purple fabric. The robes swished & billowed. The cut & layering, as usual, were closer to the princess’ & other noble ladies’ attire. But Soumaya made sure to source her materials from Constantinople. Pearls from her headpiece clacked against each other: jewels & jewelry no longer exclusive to the royal family.

Something caught her glance, mid-spin. It made her stop.

“Gents… I don’t know how to tell you all this but I think some ladies fancy you,” the platoon of knights’ eyes lifted to the spot where Soumaya’s gaze was: Fatima & two other handmaidens in their formal garb, sniggering at each other & obviously talking about Godfrey’s men. Raymond couldn’t help but blush. Meanwhile, the giggling maid in the mint gown & white veil to Fatima’s left wiggled her fingers at Odo who only lifted a hand shortly.

“Be on your best behavior,” Godfrey cleared his throat. “Now, off you lot. Don’t keep them waiting.”

More guests continued to arrive. Wine began to pour & waitstaff started on their hors d'oeuvres rounds. Peacocks & the occasional dog or two would pass unbothered among the partygoers. A calm din began to roar around the courtyard. Guy entertained a small gathering of high status clerks or some other, bored wife in tow. Odo, Firuz & Raymond exchanged pleasantries with the ladies-in-waiting. Soumaya leaned against a wall as she updated Heinrich & Godfrey on returning to the _Haute Cour_ , the three of them sipping spiced pomegranate. Ruben mingled among other attendees at the long table while Almaric found his perch atop a balcony, people watching.

Suddenly, a hush fell as the man in white himself entered the space. He was back in his default attire & mask, gold embroidery twinkling in the fire & moonlight as he took his slow, deliberate steps to his throne. All bowed in reverence, eyes lowered for a second as he continued his stride: nigh soundless save for his breathing & the hem of his clothes dragging against the mosaic floor. Before he could raise a foot on the dais, Count Marshal Tiberias had already extended his hand to help the king sit in his place. King Baldwin IV settled in his seat as he released a sober exhale. All eyes on him as everyone straightened.

“Let The Peace Banquet commence!” 

* * *

The revellers clapped in tune with the musicians as they danced across the tiles. Food had exited the kitchen some thirty minutes ago yet even now, new dishes were being brought out. Baldwin’s foot couldn’t help but tap to the tempo as he surveyed his celebrating court. Soumaya & Heinrich were with some courtiers at one end of the long table, laughing at some story about a servant who sat on a chicken & got chased around by a rooster. A few seats away, Sibylla silently watched the dancers with quiet fondness, paying no mind to her husband’s lengthy epic being told beside her to an unamused circle of aristocrats. The Baron Godfrey approached the writer, holding her shoulder. She ecstatically took his hand as he led her to the dancefloor. Sibylla’s smile died. She turned to her husband.

“Do you want to dance?”

“Not now, Sibylla. I’m in the middle of something,” he didn’t even look at her. “As I was saying-- of course, we were stocked to the brim with provisions! God blessing **_me_ **with holy foresight, He didn’t allow us to starve...”

Sibylla just lowered her eyes to the tablecloth & drank a hearty swig of wine. Unbeknownst to her, she was being watched.

Marshal Tiberias lifted his eyes to his sovereign. King Baldwin solemnly nodded. _If anything, it’s for her to decide, not so much as mine._ Tiberias got off his chair near the dais & approached the dining table. 

“Princess,” his gruff voice spoke gently.

“Yes?” She perked with hope in her hazel green eyes. 

“Would you join me in celebrating the peace?”

Sibylla glanced at the floor for a pensive moment, then looked at Guy who hadn’t even noticed the count marshal behind him. She beamed at the old soldier before taking his hand.

Cheers would erupt from the dancers followed by claps, twirling & the exchange of partners: a moment of revelry where war was forgotten. Jokes, stories, socializing… But as Soumaya twirled with hands outstretched to the heavens to the sound of tambourines, her & her lover’s eyes connected in a soundless split-second before time resumed. Both pairs wrinkled in enjoyment & adoration. 

When the song ended, Soumaya spun outside of the dancefloor & caught a pillar to catch her breath. As she gulped a few lungfulls of air in, Ruben & Almaric were just passing by the colonnade. She beckoned to the two of them & grabbed them by the collars, whispering a plot into their ears.

“Get Odo--” Soumaya commanded.

“I think we’d need more than Odo, Maya,” Ruben concluded. “Maybe all of us.”

“I think Odo can carry all of us,” Almaric quipped.

* * *

The musicians were in the middle of their movement: the buzzing of strings coincided with the drum beats & clinks of a tambourine. The partygoers’ steps followed seamlessly. Courtiers raised in social graces since birth knew all the dances, the poems & the songs aside from manners & politicking. Rarely did Baldwin find solace in crowds but this banquet offered an exception. And this first night of this ceasefire afforded this banquet. _I was right. Jerusalem needed this break. Feasting… frolicking… It’s not for me. But plenty of people_ **_do_ ** _enjoy it. And if celebration helps them heal, why not..._ King Baldwin was so lost in thought, he didn’t even notice the knights surrounding his throne. 

King Baldwin IV Of Jerusalem gripped the armrests of his chair as he felt himself lifted by laughing soldiers, his beloved near the front, smiling wide as she led them to the middle of the courtyard.

“Like the view, your majesty? Hold on tight!”

The enthused partygoers parted, then swallowed the chair-lifters in cheers. The band stopped for a second as the strings soon dominated the introduction of the song. Sure enough, Baldwin’s throne began to be lifted up & down to the rhythm of the dance. 

“Isn’t that inappropria--” Guy was about to rush into the crowd til Godfrey pulled him back by the cape, other hand occupied with a drink.

“Lighten up, will you?” The baron brought the cup to his lips. “Since when did you care for his majesty-- safety or otherwise?”

“Hmph,” Guy De Lusignan glared at the placid elder with disapproval. “I just think a **Latin** **_king_ **shouldn’t have to go native, that’s all. Where is Tiberias?! Tiberia--”

Raspy, throaty laughter erupted from the center of the courtyard as revelers too, got their hands on the marshal’s chair. Tiberias joined his monarch in the air as they rode the wave of limbs holding them aloft.

“Hmm,” Guy cocked his eyebrow. “Wonder what will his highness’ doctor make of this? He ought to scold you both for allowing--”

“Higher! Higher!” Dr. Sayed Of Edessa’s bassy voice cried as his chair joined the celebration. Godfrey couldn’t help but scoff at the grimacing Guy.

“Tell my wife I’m done with the night,” he said as he turned his back on the baron. “I’ve lost my appetite.”

“What was that about,” Heinrich emerged from a column’s shadow. Godfrey took another sip.

“Something about the Horah being unbecoming for a king of Jerusalem,” Godfrey swirled his wine about the cup. “What news of Raynald de Chatillon?”

* * *

Just as Guy was exiting the main portal to the courtyard, he nearly slammed into an entering visitor.

“Pardon me, Chancellor!” He bowed before the archbishop of Tyre.

“No harm done, _monsieur_ !” William reassured the knight; But not before peeking behind Guy’s shoulder at the wave of chairs & royals. “Except maybe for me not having arrived any earlier-- _Excusez moi!_ ” The old chronicler jogged inside, pushing past the ever-dismissive Guy who continued walking, rolling his eyes & shaking his head.

Just as William stepped onto the tile his arms were caught in another’s.

“Teacher!”

“Soumaya!”

“Augh, I missed you!” She embraced him tightly. “We weren’t able to talk during the signing.”

“I know, my dear. I know.

“But your writings have done well here-- & that drawing of me,” he held the side of her face before clasping her hand. “You know how to flatter.

“After Tiberias’ turn I want to go next!”

* * *

One dance after the Horah, Raymond took to the front of the throne dais. He cleared his throat as the room settled. Baldwin sat on his throne, Soumaya on the dais steps nearby, everybody else was close to the center on rugs & pillows, if not farther at the table, facing their chairs to watch the young squire. 

“ _Mesdames et messieurs_ ,” the knight-to-be clasped his hands. “It is with our greatest honor that we knights of Ibelin get to celebrate the peace with you all here as presented by our sovereign, King Baldwin IV,” he gestured to the throne behind him as a tempered applause found The Leper King who raised his hand in acknowledgement. Soumaya smiled at him over her shoulder, the young lovers’ eyes twinkling in recognition of another. “And to top off said celebration, we have choreographed a performance for you tonight--”

Almaric & Ruben took their places before Raymond, the latter dressed in drag & a wig, a velvet drape they shared between their fingers. Ruben held one foot aloft in an attempt at a “dainty” pose. The entire court snickered. 

““ _Pyramus! And Thisbe_ ,”” Raymond bowed, retreating to a polite applause that gave way to silence. The audience held their breath as the two knights held their pose. Godfrey’s men’s eyes were all over the frozen Ruben whose face remained petrified. At a corner behind them, Odo nudged Heinrich’s ribs with his elbow.

“Shouldn't Ruben be delivering the opening remark?”

“Well, you see my friend, it appears or fox-haired chum has the case of--”

A noblewoman shrieked as the costumed knight collapsed to the floor.

“Stage fright,” the Hospitaller & his company set their chalices down as they rushed to drag off their fallen friend.

“Ladies & gentlemen of the court, we apologize,” Firuz had already taken to the floor.

“Yes, it appears we have some technical difficulties,” Raymond joined his compatriot, flute in hand.

“And quite frankly, I too, share the good Thisbe’s countenance,” chuckled the king, shaking to get off his throne, guards ready to assist him. “I shall retire for the eve. But by all means, carry on, dear revelers,” he limped off the dais. “And may the rest of your night be merry,” he caught Soumaya’s gaze as he walked off, courtiers & attendees bowing him “goodnight.”

Once his form had retreated away from the courtyard, Raymond started singing a somber melody, lovingly delivered by his accent. Once the verse was sung, he brought the flute to his lips. Soumaya swayed with the rest of the court, charmed by the knight’s ballad. But she resolved her cue to leave in the middle of Raymond’s second song.

Quietly, she slinked off into the colonnade, exiting via a deserted portal.

* * *

Samuel subsisted on maybe some six hours of sleep & was barely in the middle of his shift. So why was drowsiness creeping up on him? His inner thoughts began to blame the hefty legs of mutton from the feast as he rolled his eyes. Tears began to prick by his crow’s feet wrinkles as he stifled a yawn.

“It’s been a long night, hasn’t it,” a soft chuckle approached as the guard’s eyes snapped open.

“Sire!” Samuel snapped at attention. Baldwin only raised his gloved hand & shook his head, continuing to his chamber entrance.

“The peace was agreed upon hours ago, soldier. Rest now. I doubt Jerusalem shall be besieged tonight.”

“But sir…”

“Good night, Samuel,” the king entered his apartment & closed the door without another word.

“Er… as you wish, my king,” the bearded guard took the hint & left his post.

Inside, Baldwin could hear the faraway acoustics of celebration. The festivities weren’t confined to the palace for all of Outremer celebrated the ceasefire as he had announced. Feeling no longer existed on his skin. His vision had long been blurry. But his hearing was impeccable. 

The Leper King glided to his balcony where he sensed labored breathing & grunts.

“I’ve already dismissed Sam. This really isn’t necessary,” he addressed the edge, getting an exhale in response.

“Yeah but I didn’t know that,” Soumaya was barely off the ground, scaling the carved wall in her heavy finery. The balcony itself may have been only one storey or two off the ground & the facade, deserted. But guards still patrolled the perimeter regularly & Soumaya had to take her chance lest she be missed at the party then spotted traversing the hallway to his majesty’s quarters.

Baldwin chuckled at the struggling writer fondly & left the railing. His eyes searched the space around him til he strode for a corner cabinet tucked out of the way where servants stored his room’s linens & curtains. 

At this point, Soumaya wasn’t even a foot off the ground when a pile of fabric landed beside her. She hopped off the wall to inspect it. A secondary textile cascaded down in two sheets.

“Tie them together!” Baldwin called from above while attempting to keep his voice low enough to avoid attention.

“I don’t think anyone can hear us above the festivities!” Soumaya hissed upward. “But yeah, better safe than sorry,” she took the first bundle into her hands & knotted one end to the hanging linen that Baldwin threaded through the railing.

The writer gripped the sheets, coiling her wrists & forearms around them once & dug her feet into cement. Patiently, she pulled herself up.

Soumaya managed to climb, parking her butt on the veranda edge where her love now leaned against. Gingerly, she touched her mouth to the metal lips of his mask before hopping inside.

Drumbeats permeated the threshold but only barely. Soumaya’s slippers hadn’t touched the floor yet & already she was swaying & humming. Baldwin took notice & cupped her waist, drawing the swaying girl close; His other hand holding one of hers aloft.

Even if they timed their rhythm to the music properly, Soumaya made their slowness deliberate. He was strong, she knew-- but he was just as frail-- a fiery spirit trapped in a fragile vessel. The next move called for him to dip her but as soon as he bent her, her eyes snapped from their blissy haze-- overriding his next move: spinning Baldwin & dipping him instead, cautious to support his frame. 

Her eyes searched him under her-- roaming for any fracture, any bruise, any sign of pain or lack thereof. And he in turn, watched her watching him... 

The sensation of quaking limbs did not register to the writer. What did register was a tummy rumble between the two of them-- his.

The lovers straightened themselves in their giggles, Baldwin leaning onto a desk for support.

“You didn’t manage to eat much, did you,” Soumaya quipped.

“Not enough before the festival, apparently,” Baldwin straightened.

“You want me to sneak in some food? I know how to use the servants’ passages by now-- this time I _don’t_ need to scale a wall.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -who doesn't like having balls in their fanfics  
> -i dunno where the treaty was agreed upon. i just imagined kerak as some kinda middle ground that's *in* outremer but not inside jerusalem itself.  
> -i could be wrong if i date the horah dance & hava negila. i mean no disrespect. i just wanted to include it here.  
> -cut scene: ending: soumaya & baldwin chilling & snacking on baldwin’s bed like it’s a sleepover (cut for narrative flow for the next chapter. This ain’t finished TIL I SAY IT’S FINISHED)


End file.
